


Worst day ever

by Azucuache



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:10:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azucuache/pseuds/Azucuache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots about my intended Inquisitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

„No! No, no, no! Don't run, please!" The thud of a horse's hooves against the dry ground picked up rapidly and the four long, slender legs kicked up yet another cloud of dust and dirt into her face. Anastasia stopped abruptly and choked on it, coughing into her fisted hand. Her eyes stung, and the bright sun and her own exhaustion didn't help either. "No, you stupid horse!" she yelled at the creature that ran off in a raspy voice. Her mouth was dry and her throat burned, begging her for the smallest gulp of water. "I can't return to Skyhold without you," she whimpered as her knees buckled and she fell on all four. Her dark brown hair fell like a veil around her sweated and dirty face, shadowing her face for the first time after what felt like eternity.

She sat on her heels and watched the vicious animal as it had stopped several hundred meters away from her. Head lowered, it started grazing the scarce grass on the parched plain. Anastasia whined softly, turning back to where a majestic fortress stood proudly in the distance. "Maker's mercy, couldn't you at least run towards it?"

With a sigh, she scrambled to her feet and slowly begun dragging herself forward, her eyes fixed on the horse. "Maker's breath, why?" she muttered under her breath. "Why did I leave my staff in the stables? I could have cast a glyph on it hours ago," she was talking irritably to herself, waving her hands in the air. "But no, I am not only clumsy, but stupidest mage ever! Stupid Inquisition, stupid horse and stupid me!" she kept on muttering. Then her voice changed, deepened slightly. "We're going to travel a lot. Learning to ride a horse is your first duty as a member of the Inquisition," she mimicked Cassandra's order. "I should have told her, that when my father couldn't teach me to ride a horse, no one can. True he didn't have much ti-" she stopped in a midsentence, alerted by a quiet sound. She straightened and looked around, her eyes squinting. There was a lone rider on the horizon. "Great, with my luck, it's a thief or a bandit of some kind."

Her breath caught in her throat when the rider slowed down the horse at first, and then changed its direction towards her. "Or worse," she mumbled when she realized where the rider had headed originally. "It's someone from Skyhold. Oh, this is going to be so embarrassing," Anastasia sighed, her shoulder slumping. With head hung in defeat, forced herself to follow her horse's steps slowly, not wanting to appear like she needed help. Though maybe it was already too late for that.

She felt even worse when the rider was close enough for her to discern details. "Right, a knight in shining armour on his mighty steed heading my way. Every girl's dream come true." Her voice lacked enthusiasm completely. She ran her fingers through her sweaty hair. Her eyebrows knitted together and her shoulder tensed as the rider brought his horse from gallop into trot as he neared, and finally eased the pace to a mere walk when he was close enough.

"Hey," Anastasia smiled at him nervously, playing with her hands as the horse finally halted to stop in front of her. She squinted as she looked up at him, the bright sun stinging in her eyes uncomfortably, making all of her face grimace.

The horse whinnied and the rider patted his neck reassuringly. "Nice armour," Anastasia mumbled, her eyes on the huge helmet shaped into a head of a lion. Her large brown orbs then slid onto the rich black fur covering his pauldrons and over the rest of the fancy armour. She was in Orlais after all.

"What are you doing here?" he asked instead, his voice muffled by the helmet. "Are you from Skyhold?" All she could see were his eyes. Their colour between blue and green, they watched her intently.

"Yes," Anastasia nodded, "and I'm…" she paused, turning her head to the horse she'd been chasing. She touched the back of her neck. "I'm in a need of help…I guess?" She pointed towards the troublesome animal. "I scared him off and he won't let me catch him to bring him back."

He turned his horse to where she had pointed. Quiet clinking filled the silence when he turned back to her again. She could also hear a huff of air as if he was…laughing? "Are you serious?" he asked and yes, there was an open amusement in his voice. He didn't wait for her answer – which was a good thing, because she didn't know what to say – and dismounted. Metal clanks accompanied the swift motion and she just wondered how he could move so quickly in that armour.

Wordlessly, he put the reins of his mount into her hands and headed towards the runaway horse.

"W-wait!" she called after him, clutching the leather reins tightly. "What if he runs off, too?"

"Shemeeck's a warhorse. He doesn't scare easily, don't worry," the knight said over his shoulder.

Anastasia made a soft sound, something between a nervous laugh and hopeless sigh, and turned to look at the horse. He lowered his head so their eyes were at the same level. She could see her pathetic self reflected in the black pits of his eyes. "Hey, boy," she smiled at him and touched his neck in what she hoped to be reassuring pat. "I hope he knows what he's doing," she added and couldn't suppress a nervous chuckle. Shemeeck stood unmoving, watching her with his calm, wise eyes. It was a little bit unnerving, so she focused on the knight, but she did press her cheek close to the side of the Shemeeck's head for comfort.

Her mouth fell open when the rider walked up to the problematic horse without much effort, reaching out to him with his arms first. "Huh," she breathed out, cocking her head. He seemed to be doing something about the saddle strap. "Oh, no, I'll never hear the end of this," she mumbled and felt her face burning with shame after he turned it around on the horse's back. "This is my worst day ever, Shemie," she mumbled hiding her face in the horse's rich mane. Then she grimaced and pulled away. "Ew, you smell. No wonder, with all the metal he put on you," she eyed the armour. "You're sweatier than I am. That's not very nice of him," she added and threw a reproachful look at the rider in question. He was already leading the other horse back.

She watched him approaching and with every step he took, she could feel her cheeks and neck burn more and more. When he finally stopped in front of her, her head was bent, her eyes dropped to the dusty ground under her feet. "Thank you, ser," she mumbled sheepishly.

"Did you put the saddle on?" he asked simply, freeing Shemeeck's reins from her white-knuckled hold.

"I've never done it before," she admitted. "They don't teach us that back in the…back home," she corrected herself. It wasn't exactly clever to advertise she was a mage. People distrusted her kind and she still needed his help to lead the horse back.

"Then you chose the worst horse to start with. This girl's not exactly a warhorse material," he said instead of mounting his Shemeeck like she expected. She gaped at him as he watched her through the slit in his helmet. The eyes were narrowed, but it was the good kind of narrowed gaze; he was smiling.

"Girl?" she repeated soundlessly. She slowly turned and dropped to a crouch. She hid her eyes after realizing she was really the stupidest mage on all Thedas and whined quietly. "Like falling from the sky wasn't enough!"

She heard him laugh. "Not your best day, huh?" When she looked up at him, he offered his hand to help her to her feet. She let him pull her up, avoiding his eyes. "No, it's not."

"Come on, let's get you up."

She laughed. "I was inept enough to put the saddle the wrong way and you think I know how to ride her?"

His eyes hardened beneath the helmet. And she just got the feeling this man wasn't used to people defying him. A memory of what happened to mages who talked back to a templar had her shoulder tense. "What do I do?" she asked quickly.

She felt stupid as he helped her into the saddle and even more when he actually had to put one of her feet into the stirrings; she had frozen as soon as she was up in fear the beast might ran amok again. Only after he climbed up his Shemeeck and took the reins she realized hers still hung down. Would she need to dismount in order to get them? She was afraid to reach out for them. Maybe she could ask him; climbing up and down didn't seem much of a problem to him despite all the extra weight he was wearing. "Uhm…" she started saying, but fell silent after he looked at her. He reached for the reins and kept them as he bid his horse to a walk with a soft command. The mare she sat on – how in Maker's mercy she missed the detail it was a she-horse she still couldn't understand – followed Shemeeck obediently. Her fingers curled in the mare's mane.

"So, do I want to know how you ended up out here?" he asked in a mild tone.

"It's a long story, ser," she mumbled.

He chuckled. "Don't be so stiff. Move with the horse."

"I'll fall if I move."

This time he sighed. "What are you doing in Skyhold exactly? Working in the stables?"

"Eh…heh, do I look like I work with horses?" she laughed mirthlessly. "Actually, no. I don't work in the fortress at all. I'm…in the Inquisition. Newest recruit," she smiled at him and the smile froze on her lips when his head snapped to her quickly. "There are things I am actually good at," she informed him with a slight frown.

The defiance in her voice amused Cullen to no end. From the look of her it was difficult to tell she was anything but this clumsy. "Why didn't the guards help you catch her?" he asked instead, smiling to himself as her expression changed.

The determined scowl was wiped off her face altogether and she chuckled. "They were busy laughing," she admitted and suddenly something on the other side of the deserted plain seemed to catch her attention. And he frowned under the helmet. "Laughing?" he asked, carefully keeping his emotion from his voice.

She made a subtle gesture with her hand and her posture changed all at once. Her tensed muscles relaxed. And just as she looked rigid and awkward on the top of the mare a second ago, it appeared like she gained some riding skill from the thin air now. She smiled to herself; not all spells required her staff. "Yeah, not that I blame them, mind you," she said, finally facing him. "You see, one of the stable boys was teaching me how to take care of them," she started saying, patting her horse's neck like she wasn't all stiff from fear of falling a minute ago. "I am not important enough to have someone do it for me, so I thought it could be useful. And I like animals, too. So, he helped me with the reins, but the saddle…" she paused and shook her head, her cheeks colouring slightly. "I thought I had it right. I said: Hey, that wasn't that hard!, and then slapped her rear." She made a quick gesture with her hand like she really was slapping someone.

She couldn't see Cullen quirk his eyebrows.

"She screamed and rose up on her hind legs and then she was outside the stables. I ran after her, screaming too and flailing my arms, which obviously scared her even more. We ran around the courtyard a few times and by the time she ran outside, the guards were leaning against their spears for support and I swear the one on the right side of the gate was crying from laughter."

"Interesting," he mumbled. "Here, we're almost there."

She blinked at him when he offered her the reins. She took them hesitantly. She started taking a breath to protest, but he mutely pointed at Skyhold not far from them. She nodded and hoped her agility spell was good enough to make her look like she actually knew what she was doing. She was about to heel the horse, but the mare had decided to simply follow the knight and sett off before she managed to move. The two horses walked slowly side by side as they sauntered up the slope towards the large gate with black and white flags hanging from the flagpole. Without a wind to fly them, it looked sad.

But Anastasia's attention was quickly focused elsewhere and she found herself gaping again.

As soon as they spotted them, the guards hauled themselves into attention. Hurriedly they fixed their armour and helmets, grasping their weapons and shields firmly. She could hear silent swear words coming from their way as well as metal on metal sounds. She paled. "Oh no," she mumbled. "Please, don't tell me you're someone important," she asked in a weak voice, her eyes desperately focused anywhere but on him.

"As you wish. I won't," Cullen smiled. His eyes watched the closer guardsman as they passed them by. And when they rode in the large courtyard, Anastasia could see that all the guards were standing straight.

With another quiet order he stopped the horse and hers halted, too. She followed suit when he dismounted, though she did cast a fleeting look towards the stables on the other side of the courtyard. She watched the knight grab both reins and shove them into hands of one of the guards standing at the gate from the inside. The one on the right, Anastasia noticed with a small smile. "Take care of them and report it when you're finished," he said simply and didn't even spare the guardsman a second look as he strode away in heavy steps, metal clinking and all.

Anastasia paid the guardsman a guilty smile and hurried away as well, but unlike the knight's her movements were utterly silent. In a loose shirt with a supple leather bodice over it and breeches she couldn't make much of a noise if she wanted, and she preferred it that way. Life in the Circle tower taught her that being invisible and inaudible was the wisest thing to do.

Her steps lead to a bucket of rain water so that she could wash her face at least before going through the hold itself to wash properly and change.

"Serrah Trevelyan! Serrah Trevelyan!" The elven stable boy ran towards her. "Your stick!" he shouted from the distance, showing her what he was holding and waving it above his head. She smiled and quickly dried her face against her sleeve. "Oh, thank you, my dear. But it's a staff, not a stick," she corrected the young elf when he handed it to her. As soon as her hand touched it, she let the magic flow through both her and the enchanted wood and the small stick glowed white as it elongated. The elf gasped and stared in disbelief at the white crystal that suddenly appeared on top of the staff and his eyes slid down the length of it as she stabbed the ground with its end. The razor sharp, silverite spearhead made a glass-like sound, but Anastasia knew this would neither hurt nor blunt its edge. She looked fondly at the staff, a parting gift from her father before he sent her off to the Circle. The crystal, now at her eye level, flashed white once more as she dispelled the agility spell. Se could feel a soft breeze wash over her harmlessly as she did.

She was holding an ordinary stick again when she spun towards the stairs leading up to the fortress and froze. That knight was standing at its top, stopped by the sound of a familiar name; he'd spent enough time in the Free Marches to recognize it. He'd taken off his helmet and his short, curly fair hair caught the afternoon's sun. She smiled at him when they eyes met, but then she made the mistake of focusing her gaze on the lion helmet under his arm. She made an involuntary step back and the smile froze on her lips when she noticed the gauntlets for the first time. He was a templar.


	2. Don't judge so quickly

"I've seen you."

Anastasia frowned and turned around, the skirts of her robes flapping around her legs. On the threshold of her room, looking like hugging her whole library to her chest, Josephine stood with the broadest of smiles on her face. Her green eyes shining mischievously despite the way her arms trembled from the weight of the tomes, she waited to be allowed in.

"Oh, wait!" the mage exclaimed and hurried to help her take some of the tomes. "Maker's breath, how did you manage to carry it all the way from the library?" she huffed as she put the tomes on her bedside table with a thud that sent small clouds of dust flying all around. Then she took the rest from Josephine's arms, piling them up as well. "Thank you so much for these," she smiled, picking up the uppermost book and brushing its cover with her fingertips. It was a fine leather that resisted the ravages of time yet. "We lacked that kind of literature in the Circle. It was all arcane, politics or history back there," she rolled her eyes and sat down on her bed with the heavy tome on her lap.

Josephine, her steps short and delicate befitting a highborn lady, approached the young mage. "I could never imagine you'd be interested in architecture or other forms of art," she smiled and sat down next to Anastasia.

"I love it," the mage mumbled. "It's…something else than what I had to read all my life. It's a way of expressing yourself, but one people admire and long for."

"Unlike magic?" Josephine drawled.

Anastasia dropped her eyes. They slowly focused on the pile and lingered there. "There's no need to be afraid of a painting. Or a temple," she mumbled with the softest of smile. She looked sad as she run her finger across the spine of the book she held.

"Unless it crumbles on top of you," the Antivan mumbled hesitantly.

Anastasia's smile broadened when she turned to face her. "I'd survive even such a disaster," she said self-confidently. She lifted her chin slightly, as she tried to fight her own melancholy. "So...you've seen me?" she asked as she set the book on top of the small mountain on her bedside table.

Encouraged by her question, Josephine smirked. "After you adventurers returned," she started, making strange emphasis on the word adventurers. "You couldn't tear your eyes off him."

The younger women frowned. She caught one of the small braids in her hair and pulled the ribbon off its end. Her fingers started untangling it nimbly. "I'm nervous around him. And he doesn't appreciate my company any better. He didn't let me heal him after he got shot. The bandages were already soaking red before he donned his armour."

Josephine made a soft uh-uh sound. "I got the impression there was something wrong with him," she replied and reached for the braids on the other side of Anastasia's head. She laughed just as she started working on the first one. "Funny how we can talk about someone without actually saying his name."

"He was rude," Anastasia griped quietly. "Varric thought so, too."

"Well, you can't really blame him. He's been through some…nasty experience," she replied slowly, her eyes tracing Anastasia's strands. They remained curled into gentle waves as she finished the first braid.

"I'd understand his detached behaviour around Dorian. He's too reckless about his magic and cocky and to tell the truth, I am wary around him, too. But I didn't do anything wrong," she said firmly. "Neither did Solas. I don't think I've met kinder person than Solas," Anastasia paused, smiling again. "And Vivienne is Montsimmard's First Enchanter. She is a tiny bit pompous, but knows what she's doing. And he treats them like filth anyway," she finished with another scowl and dropped her hands into her lap. "But I should know better. He's just a templar after all."

Josephine pulled at one of the braids lightly. "Don't judge so quickly, Ana," she whispered gently.

"You're not the first giving me this advice," Anastasia admitted hesitantly. "But I can't help it. He was actually nice to me when he helped me with the horse." Then she giggled. "He even punished his guardsman for laughing at me."

"Did he?" Josephine asked softly, watching the younger women's smiling face.

"He ordered him to tend to our horses. It was..." she hesitated, biting her lip, "the first. No one has ever punished anyone for my sake." The light in her eyes suddenly went out. "But then he realized I was a mage."

"He's not a bad man," Josephine mumbled and her hands stilled for a moment. "Quite the opposite. I am sure when he discovers for himself that you, all of you, pose no threat, he'll warm up."

"I don't think so. As of late, templars seem to believe we're all either blood mages or abominations. Even before the Right of Annulment in Kirkwall's Circle situation was bad, but after the news arrived..." she sighed and her face turned into a sad grimace at the memory.

"What happened?"

"They sent us all to our dormitories, believing splitting us would make us easier to control."

"Would it?"

For the first time ever Josephine didn't like the smile that formed on Anastasia's lips. "No," she said without hesitation. "Their powers did render us defenceless and vulnerable, but the distance couldn't. We had...ways...to communicate," she said evasively and then hurried to continue her story. "Our youngest didn't understand what was going on or why. They sensed and saw our fear however. And their reaction was much stronger." She frowned. "Children are sensitive. And innocent. Easily deceived. Or susceptible."

"To...what?" Josephine asked. When Anastasia's brown orbs met hers, she realized the truth.

"We were afraid of that," Anastasia went on slowly. "Together with a few senior mages, we asked one of the templars to be let into their rooms to calm them down. We asked to be escorted, to be precise. We wanted them to know we respected their decision – there wasn't any other option anyway," she shrugged casually. Then her hand touched her cheek just under her right eye. The motion drew Josephine's eye and she studied her hand as the mage remained quiet for a few fleeting moments. There was dirt stuck beneath her nails and her skin had darker shade than when the mage had arrived to Skyhold. Her tan brought out a light scar Anastasia traced with her fingertips. Josephine blinked; she hadn't noticed it before.

Anastasia turned her head slightly to look at Josephine. The Antivan watched her with her lips slightly parted, her eyes intent and lingering just an inch under her eyes. "Demons pray easily on those who are, simply put, miserable, and children are even more prone to this temptation," she elaborated her earlier thought. "I tried to explain that to support our idea. The templar grew tired of us and he hit me to silence me."

"With the metal gauntlets on," Josephine closed her eyes for a moment. Anastasia had dropped her hand when she opened them again, allowing her to examine the scar freely. "Did they let you see to the children?" she asked. She realized she was completely still the whole time and her fingers started slowly working on her hair again.

Anastasia's features hardened in a way that almost looked scary on the otherwise lovely young woman. "A few days later we heard they had killed two of them. I don't know what happened. Only that whatever it was, it could have been prevented. The little ones have been just scared. And not a single of those templars did anything. Because they were mages first and foremost after all," she hissed and dark fires of fury lit her eyes. Her voice was icy cold as she went on. "Maybe it would be better if they slit our throats right after we leave our mothers' wombs and save us all the suffering."

"Isn't this a little harsh, Ana?" Josephine asked quietly.

"No. It is not," Anastasia opposed gently. All at once, she looked very tired. "I spent over twenty years in the Circle and have never seen a kind or understanding templar. They were there, waiting and some of them even desiring to strike us down as soon as we as much as looked at them the wrong way." She fisted her hands. "Maybe I was hoping things outside the Towers weren't so bad. Maybe I just wanted to be treated like a human being for once. Instead, all I got was Ser Cullen's fiery gaze burning into my back throughout the whole journey."

A silence stretched for a few long moments. Finally, Josephine cleared her throat. "Here, all done," she let go the last strand of hair. "Why didn't you braid all of your hair?"

"I like it that way," Anastasia replied, trying to sound cheerful. She knew the question was aimed to lift her spirit, but she still felt blue anyway. "Thank you."

"Anytime," Josephine smiled and rose to her feet. "I...well, this was very educational," she drawled, narrowing her eyes.

"I'm sorry for complaining," Anastasia made a face. "I shouldn't be allowed to speak at all when I'm exhausted."

"Why don't you rest for now then? I'll make sure they bring your food in here for you."

Anastasia shook her head. "No need. I have legs and know where the kitchen is. Only right now, I feel like cleaning up first. We've ridden all day, to and fro, doing business. You can imagine I spent more time rolling on the ground than in the saddle. I'm so clumsy with horses," she gave a lop-sided smiled and rolled her eyes. If Josephine hadn't seen her troubled face a minute ago for herself, she would have never guessed what great sorrow this petite human concealed inside.

"As you wish," she said, curling up her lips into a smile that aimed to warm hearts and soften up everyone Josephine negotiated with.

Anastasia nodded, mumbling her goodbyes as she rose. Her fingers had started working on the lace of her robes as Josephine left her room. She stopped right outside and closed the door carefully and without a single sound. Only after making sure they were shut properly, she lifted her eyebrows meaningfully, focusing on the person waiting outside. "Do you finally understand?" she asked quietly. "Or is Leliana's meaning still unclear to you? Incidentally," she continued as she already begun striding down the corridor, the clatter of her heels echoing off the marble floor, "thank you for your generous help with the books, Cullen. Shall we continue to the great hall for dinner? I'm starving."


	3. Curtsy

Leliana smiled broadly, eyes squinting against the bright afternoon sun. The squeak of a door closing behind her, as the guards shut it close, accompanied her soft steps as she joined Cullen at the first landing on the top of the stone stairs.

She mimicked his posture, leaning her elbows against the banister and intertwining her fingers. Her ginger hair slipped from beneath her hood and the wind made it tickle her face. She smiled as she caught the few fidgety strands in her glowed hand. “What’s so fascinating about them?” she asked him, but her eyes watched the busy scene in the courtyard.

“Mages,” Cullen replied simply. It was strange to see him shift his weight without the omnipresent soft clank of his armour. Him wearing a casual clothing had a strange calming effect on Leliana. It created an illusion of peace and quiet.

It also made obvious his taste. His dark red shirt, simple breeches and beige embroidered waistcoat had nothing to do with the ostentatious orlesian fashion Running around in full plate armour couldn’t be exactly easy, thus Leliana understood his want to wear something more practical and plainly more comfortable.

Unlike her. Her supple, leather armour was so light she didn’t mind wearing it most of the time. It was old and already shaped to hug her figure comfortably, never restricting her movements. “Meaning petty mages cannot learn to fight with real weapons?” she asked with slightly raised eyebrows. “I believe Solas is doing great job,” she nodded towards the place where the elven mage practised swordfight against a dummy. One of Cullen’s men circled around him, supervising the training with his hands clasped behind his back to give himself the air of importance.

She tilted her head and smiled for herself. Many years ago she had watched Shani train just like that, only her sparring partner had more vigour to him; Alistair could give as generously as he got. Only after he learned about her noble family had he gone soft on her. Or maybe it had been his feelings that made him so careful with his slashes and strikes. On the other hand, she stopped holding back after her origin had been revealed, showing him what a proper martial training she had received at her father’s castle.

While she drowned in the past, Cullen’s eyes narrowed at the two trainees down below them. They slovenly scanned Solas and his efforts and focused on the other mage. He took a deep breath, examining her every move critically. Years of training and hard work enabled him to see every single mistake she made, every misstep and wrong move that would result in blood and pain if the spear had a proper edge. However her recklessness had her laughing each time she got hit instead. Her inability to realize severe consequences of her inexperienced fighting made his lips curve in contempt. This wasn’t a game.

“I am actually convinced it’s a good idea,” Leliana finally went on, awaken from her daydreaming. She had noticed the object of his attention and leaned closer to him. “She’s obviously enjoying herself.” She paused for a moment, watching Cullen.

Feeling her eyes on him, Cullen reluctantly shifted his attention on Solas. The elf was exceptionally skilled and what he lacked in muscle and stamina he made up for in enthusiasm and endeavour. Even from the distance it was obvious Solas put his heart into the training.

“I mean, Vivienne and Dorian both think swordplay beneath them. Solas, I am sure we can spare a sword for him. And Ana’s already got her blade. Why not to teach them to fight in case their magic is useless?” She looked at him expectantly, elaborating her thought.

“I suppose that wasn’t just a rhetorical question,” he said slowly, finally turning his head to her. When she smiled at him and shook her head, he turned his gaze to the hustle below them once more. “I am not sure I’m comfortable with making their kind even more dangerous.”

Leliana chuckled and bumped into him with her shoulders. “Is it the reason why you keep watching over their training sessions?” she asked quietly. Unlike him, she watched the mages’ efforts with a small smile playing across her face.

“Cassandra appointed me to it,” he replied dryly, taking a slow, deep breath. He focused his attention on the action in the courtyard after hearing another of her breathless laughs.

Anastasia tried her best to ignore the two advisors up the Skyhold main stairs. Her hands ached from holding the spear so firmly and yet it was still slipping from her sweat-slick grasp. Her eyes were fixed on the guardsmen in front of her. She was too aware of the bruises forming on various spots on her body from the beating, but she was determined to return a few of them. Only maybe not today. Either way, she couldn’t let the throbbing distract her.

Garret feigned an attack aimed at her upper body, but twisted in a middle of the slash to strike her across her hips. She blocked his thrust awkwardly and winced at the impact of his spear against hers. The wooden sound echoed around the courtyard as he spun and retreated out of her reach before she could react, making a show of whirling the spear around him in the process.

She just laughed, letting her arms drop. “Did you see that?” she asked, breathless. “I’ve parried it!” She let go of the shaft with one hand and touched the top of her head. She had tied her hair back in a firm ponytail, making sure shorter strands didn’t escape the ribbon with a couple of hair clips. As she touched it, her hair was drenched with sweat.

The guardsman relaxed his stance, using the spear as she would her staff, leaning on it. He wasn’t anywhere near as tired as her, so smiles came easier to him. “You’re making progress. Only you better not close your eyes next time you expect being hit.”

“Baby steps, Garret, baby steps,” she beamed at him and then made a face. “How about to call it a day? I’d like to study after the supper and it’s difficult to do so with my eyes closed from exhaustion. And tomorrow’s another day,” she said pleadingly, brushing off her bodice.

Garret nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow after breakfast, then,” he said and, hesitantly, bowed to her before walking up to her to get the training spear from her stiff fingers. He looked at her over his shoulder before disappearing in the armoury.

She glanced towards Solas who did his best to defeat the poor, smiling dummy. Despite being beaten all day, its silly smile always stayed on, and she loved how ludicrous it made the dummy look.

Seeing Solas wasn’t done yet, she shrugged. Her steps headed to the grand stairway as her only desire was to wash off the dust and sweat and find a calm, quiet place to read a little before supper. Her legs protested as she climbed up the stairs. Her thighs burnt just like they had during the training, but it was just a few more steps, so she ignored the hurting muscles. A hot bath would soothe all of the aches and pains.

“Ser,” she nodded to Cullen. “Leliana,” she smiled at the spymaster of the Inquisition when she passed them by and only with her back to them did she allow her face to grimace with the effort. Sometimes she got the feeling a foul magic was at work here; she could swear there were more and more steps whenever she climbed up and the more tired she was, the longer the stairway grew.

“You’re sloppy,” a voice called from behind her. She frowned and stopped, whirling around.

Leliana was smiling softly, her eyes on the Templar beside her. Cullen’s face was glowering as he fixed the mage with a strict gaze. “You’re too awkward with the spear. If it had a sharp edge, you’d cut yourself before cutting down your enemy.”

To Leliana’s amusement, Anastasia replied to his criticism with a curtsy . In her riding breeches, she had no skirts to hold, so she simply spread her arms slightly as she performed the formal bow with a grace fitting a highborn lady like herself. She was surprised at the easiness of it considering it had been years since she had curtsied last. Obviously, some things were hard to forget. “I am sorry for offending my lord. I shall remove my humble, abject self from his adept sight this instant.” She spun again and ran up the remaining steps for which she chided herself when she was finally in the welcoming coolness of the fortress. She massaged her sore thighs before heading through the maze of corridors to her room, muttering under her breath.

“Or maybe she needs a better trainer,” Leliana commented, touching her chin thoughtfully. “Garret seems stricken by her to me. He’s too soft on her either way.”

Cullen frowned. “Does he?” he asked in a strangely tight voice. “Is he? I haven’t noticed,” he added and looked down at the courtyard. The elf was still practising, but his movements were getting slower and slacker despite his efforts. “What makes you think so?”

She gave him a half-shrug. “Just a feeling,” she said nonchalantly. “Maybe it’s nothing and I’m wrong. I’ve seen Alistair train with Shani and he had the same...” she paused briefly, seemingly looking for the right word, “...gleam in his eyes,” she finished with a soft smile. It was known how the two of them ended up. She still remembered Alistair’s face as clear as day after Shani had made the fateful announcement at the Landsmeet. She and Zevran had shamelessly eavesdropped behind their door after all the fuss was over.

Those were good times.

“It was just your imagination, I am sure,” he said firmly. Pushing away from the banister, he began walking down the stairs. Leliana watched him making his way across the courtyard and straight to the armoury.


	4. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of two chapters that will explain my take on why the Inquisitor can close the Fade rifts. Until the game will tell us how it really is, anyway.

Her steps reverberated lightly off the marble floors and cold stone walls as she walked through the maze of Skyhold’s corridors. The closer she was, the more hesitant she grew, as she hugged the few pages to her chest anxiously. Her heart hammered against them loudly and her head was spinning.

She practically tiptoed the last few meters to the bulky door, feeling like a kid sneaking into a kitchen for a midnight snack. She’d done that a lot in the Tower and never got caught. Obviously, she lost some of her sneaking skills, because the hand that gently knocked on the door trembled slightly. She leaned closer, listening for an answer. When none come, she knocked again, her knuckles colliding with the massive wood three times with greater force than before. She bit her lip and hesitated when nothing came from within.

Her shoulders dropped, she looked sadly at the papers she held. Then she frowned, puffing her chest as she took a deep breath, and with determination she simply tried the doorknob. The door swung aside soundlessly and she sucked in the air quickly.

“Uhm...hello?” she peeked in bashfully, pushing the door as she slipped inside. Her fingers slid along the wood and lingered there for a moment as she looked around. “Wow,” she mouthed, examining the bedroom with big, curious eyes.

It was the same size as hers, but seemed much more spacious anyway. Instead of large, space-consuming bookcases and wardrobes, weapon racks full of swords and spears lined walls here and there. Swords, axes and shields decorated walls instead of pictures and paintings. A massive desk stood in one corner, covered with a map of Thedas not unlike the one she’d seen in a war room. It even had the small figurines spread all over the countries. A double-edged dagger jabbed into the desk held one side of the map unrolled, a mace lay on the other. Its sharp points made a few small tears into the paper and Maya winced at the sight of them.

“I’d use books,” she mumbled, pouting. She knew how much time and effort was put into drawing such a large and beautiful map and she would never destroy it so carelessly.

But the damage was done and there was nothing she could do. So instead of lamenting over it, she whirled to examine another part of the room. There was a large stone hearth with pieces of wood already placed in, ready to being ignited. Two rapiers, crossed at their halves, adorned the cold stones. In front of it was a table made of dark wood with lion paws for legs. She cocked an eyebrow at that. He sure loved the beast. A pair of seats made of the same wood stood on each side of the table, facing the fireplace. Cushioning was made of dark red cloth and looked very comfortable and inviting.

Then there was a whole part of the room hidden behind a divider. She could see the canopy of a large, queen size bed over its top. The soft fabric was in darker shade of red, just like most of the room, which seemed to be Cullen’s favourite colour. It was also the colour of wealth.

She shifted her weight while looking at the divider. Eventually, respecting his privacy and suppressing her gnawing curiosity, she turned away from the divider and was about to head to the door instead. She needed to talk to Cullen, and it was obvious the advisor wasn’t here at the moment. Or so she thought until she actually faced the door.

She went still when she locked her eyes with his, him standing at the threshold. He wasn’t in his armour, which had made his arrival inaudible, and she was suddenly extremely glad she hadn’t ventured into the private part of his bedroom. That way, when she blurted out: “I wasn’t snooping!” she meant it.

He simply leaned against the doorframe with his shoulder, folding his arms. And blocking a way out, too.

She outstretched her arms, offering him the papers she was holding. From several meters away, he obviously couldn’t get them. So he didn’t move, just watched her wordlessly and waited for her explanation. “Josephine sends these to you. She wants the requisition orders filled in today so that she can make sure you get all the supplies you need for your trip to Val Royeaux.”

Finally, he moved from the door, heading to her. She noticed there was a lion embroidered on his doublet, as he crossed the distance between them, too. “That’s in four weeks,” he mumbled peevishly as he snatched the papers from her hands.

“She said the order needs time to be processed and supplies to be gathered and delivered,” Anastasia didn’t let him brush her off. “You’re the last left. Vivienne filled hers as soon as the word of the masquerade arrived two weeks ago.”

“I’m not Vivienne,” he snapped and disappeared behind the diviner. She could hear a rustle of the papers and a thud as he probably put them away.

“Josephine was very persistent in her request.”

“I don’t have time for that! I’m a head of the entire Inquisition military forces if she hasn’t noticed.”

Anastasia gave a lopsided smile. “She has. She offers to fill it in for you. But...you don’t want her to do that, Ser, really not,” she mumbled sheepishly, playing with her hands. His doublet was thrown over the top of the diviner, which startled her, and soon a sound of water splashing filled the room. When he walked back to her, he was glowering, and the roots of his hair above his forehead were damp. He was holding the papers again as he strode to his desk. He sat down behind it and reached for a quill and an ink. He paused, lifting his eyes to her, the quill half-way into the bottle.

“She told me to make sure you fill it in by staying until you’re done. So that the documents don’t get _accidentally misplaced again_. Her expression,” she smiled at him, cocking her head. And for a moment, he resisted smiling, too. The innocent expression made her look incredibly young and irresistibly charming.

Then he just shook his head, closing his eyes. He pressed his fingers into them and sighed. He looked tired and she felt a pinch of guilt in her stomach. She knew he probably didn’t have much of a quality sleep last night and here she was bothering him with such trivialities. She dropped her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to be a witness to his suffering, but the Spirit had forced her. And once she saw him, she couldn’t tear her eyes off the scene. Seeing him like that made her realize he really didn’t differ from anyone else in the world. For the first time, she saw the person beneath all the armour. And all she could do was to observe while she wanted to run up to him and console him; to hug him, to stroke his hair or hold his hand, whatever would help.

“Don’t loiter and light this,” he tapped a tall candle with the quill, breaking her chain of thoughts. She blinked away the images of him kneeling in a pool of blood and hurried to his desk. She met his eyes for the briefest of moments when he lifted his head.

She didn’t say a word, didn’t do a thing, but there it was; a fluttering flame dancing above her palm. She let it slid down to her fingers, flames licking her skin hungrily, and then lit the wick with a soft touch. The small flame appeared liquid as she let it into her palm while she reached for another candle. He let her lit it as well, watching her hand, fascinated by it. Then she squeezed the fire into her palm to extinguish it and the spell was broken.

Until now he’d never seen her use fire spells before, he realized. She had used warm wind to dry their belongings after a downpour, from which she had sheltered herself with her magic as well. She had helped Dorian clear the path where dirt had slid down a hill and blocked it. She had healed many of his men without uttering a word of complaint. She had trapped their enemies in a cage made of light and scorched them with lightning springing from the crystal on top of her staff. But fire...he’d never seen her conjure fire before.

That made him sat back and she squirmed under his gaze, her hand brushing against her side like she wanted to dry it. “How did you end up in the Tower of Magi anyway?” he asked pensively. Often children burnt down a barn, a haystack or two, or hurt someone with fire, and that caused them to avoid casting fire spells for years.

She blinked, and then frowned as her lips parted in surprise. Her left hand curled around something he couldn’t see, hidden in the folds of her robes. Her staff, undoubtedly. She shifted her weight and actually flinched when he rose to his feet. “I apologize, Serah,” he said and pointed to the two seats in front of the fireplace.

“Do you want me to light it as well?” she asked simply, thinking it was the hearth he had pointed at. She turned to look at it and missed the way he grimaced. A mage she could be, but she was a woman and a noble on top of that all, even though she didn’t act like it. Either way, leaving her standing while he was seated was incredibly ill-mannered and heartless of him as it was. Having her convinced that he didn’t view her as more than a tool made him feel like a monster. It was how some of the templars treated mages in the Circle. It was how she was used to being treated.

It was how he had treated her a minute ago.

“Wait...” she drawled, turning back to him. He’d already gathered the papers, the quill and ink into his arms and was reaching to get one of the candles. She seemed baffled as his words echoed in her mind. “I don’t understand.”

His hand stopped half-way to the closer candle. Instead he walked around the table and took her hand to lead her to the seats. It was warm and her skin soft under his calloused palm; a hand of a mage indeed. He felt her flinch at first. To her credit, however, she didn’t pull away.

While she slowly sat into the seat, he dropped the things he was holding onto the table carefully and returned to get the candle.

He put it on the table and then he noticed her face. Her lips were parted, eyes wide with fear, colour drained from her cheeks. Then she closed her mouth and looked away quickly before he could even take a breath to try to make her relax. He noticed her hand, the one he’d held, caressed the wooden armrest of the seat awkwardly. Her fingers began drawing nonsensical patterns.

He tilted his head to one side, giving her a questioning look.

“Oh,” she mumbled, remembering his question. She pulled both her hands into her lap. “Well, it was nothing scandalous or violent, rest assured,” she blurted out.

He hummed quietly and begun studying the blank form in front of him. She left him undisturbed, thinking that he probably considered it an answer enough. He was quiet for a few moments while writing down his needs and demands for the trip. She focused on the two rapiers above the fireplace.

Finally done with the annoying paperwork, he lifted his eyes to her, putting the quill away. She appeared to be admiring the fencing cords in front of her, but turned to him when she caught his motion. She smiled and all the awkwardness was gone from her suddenly. She’d sat back in the seat and relaxed finally. It left him wondering how they did it; how all the mages could look so innocent and inconspicuous and yet be capable of such a massive destruction he’d witnessed. Or maybe it was just her looking innocent and inconspicuous. He was sure he’d never seen her from this close either and he noticed a small dimple in her right cheek when she smiled.

“Nothing violent,” he finally mused on her words. “That could be anything. What was it?”

She looked away from him, the large brown orbs widening. “Well, people didn’t like me knowing their secrets,” she whispered.

“You know people’s secrets...” he echoed quietly, leaning a little bit closer over the small table. “What does it mean exactly?”

She looked at him with fear filling the big eyes and her hand tried to snatch the papers. He reacted with precision and speed of a seasoned warrior and trapped her hand under his. It was much smaller than his and trembling softly.

“I...cannot read minds,” she stuttered and he felt her feeble effort to pull her hand away. Her nostrils flared when she realized he just wasn’t going to let go. “Please, Ser, I’m not danger to anyone. I’ve done my Harrowing and I cannot become an abomination.”

“Anyone can become an abomination, even senior mages,” he said slowly. “Even First Enchanters.”

Kirkwall. He had to be referring to Kirkwall. She’d heard what happened.

“How do you get to know the secrets?” he asked quietly. “What mind trick do you use?”

“None,” she shook her head. “I can’t influence other people, I just...observe.”

“That’s not possible.”

His fingers closed around her hand so now he was holding it instead of pinning it down. Her eyes dropped to them for a moment. And then her hand stilled in his and relaxed finally. “You’re a templar,” she whispered after a short pause. “You should know if I used a mind trick on you. You’ve been trained to resist such magic.” She lifted her eyes to him again. The dancing flame cast moving shadows on her face.

He frowned. “On me?” he echoed soundlessly. She was right that he should have noticed such magic trying to get its hold on him. Besides, he couldn’t remember being alone with her either and someone would have noticed her casting anything on him. There wasn’t a chance for her to cast any spells. “You’re lying.”

She closed her eyes. Her free hand suddenly covered his. The touch was gentle and light when her fingers closed around his. “I am sorry,” she mumbled, locking her eyes with his again. “She was beautiful. She had long, fair hair cascading down her shoulders and back in soft curls. Her eyes were kind and as blue as an ocean and her lips, they were pink and full and always smiling. She was tall and slim, gentle and loving, beautiful in the purple robes she liked to wear so often. And then...she was no more,” she paused, her hand tightening around his. “Her blood was warm and slick where it touched your hands and her eyes opened as you slit her throat. But they weren’t hers anymore and the demon she had fallen prey to in her Harrowing looked straight at you. Her lips curved in disdain before her face finally relaxed. Amell, you whispered, knowing she couldn’t hear you anymore. The woman you loved lay dead in your arms, while others commended how flawlessly you’ve performed your duty. Her blood was everywhere and the carmine was all you could see as she bled.”

Now it was him cringing back. He watched her finally lift the papers and rise to her feet slowly. “I am sorry. I didn’t want to see it,” she mumbled again and the tears in her eyes brimmed over, running down her cheeks. Her hands trembled as they held the papers gingerly. She fled his room without another word and he just stared, hearing her steps getting fainter and fainter.

His infatuation wasn’t a secret. Everyone knew, even in Kirkwall. But all the rumours were about was him falling in love with a mage. No one knew her name. No one knew how she looked like. Those were details only his regular nightmares kept in his memory as if it was yesterday. Like last night. He looked at his hands as he recalled the moment when his dreams forced him to end her life again.


	5. Spirit

Anastasia barged in her bedroom, breathing heavily from the hasty dash. Her heart was beating quickly, pounding against her ribcage like a battering ram trying to break its way out. Her lungs stung and pained each time she took a breath, and she cursed the panic taking over finally. She had forced herself to be composed and calm while handing over the filled orders to Josephine. But afterwards, when she was free to let the serene mask slide off, she let the effect of what happened in the red bedroom cloud her thinking far too much. Sprinting down the hallway to her bedroom was an inevitable result of her groundless fear.

She sat down on her bed, back to a large and only window in the room, facing the door. She tried to catch her breath, her left hand toying with her staff. The wood was warm under her palm and smooth as she touched it with numb fingers. Breathing through her mouth noisily, she willed her heart to stop racing so much.

“Has he hurt you?” a voice spoke up and she gasped even more, turning to the window behind her. There, against the soft pink glow of a setting sun, a dark slim silhouette stood tall and unmoving.

A soft whisper left Anastasia’s lips and every candle in the room lit up with a soft, green light. The eerie glow turned her otherwise comfortable bedroom into bizarre and macabre place, and Cole’s face looked even paler, ghastly even. She caught a movement of his hand as he sheathed a dagger into one of his many hidden pockets, the steel hissing gently as it slid inside. He tilted his head, looking at her through childish eyes, green light reflecting in the orbs.

“No,” she mumbled, finally getting control over her laboured breathing.

He smiled in return and his eyes, half-hidden behind a veil of blonde hair, turned to examine the closest candle. “Your Spirit is close, isn’t she? Your magic fire is green when she’s near the surface.”

“She was afraid for me. But…” she smiled hesitantly and took a peek at the door again, “no templar hot on my heels to kill the abomination of me.” She watched the massive piece of wood, shadows dancing over it to the candlelight’s every whim.

“You’re not an abomination,” his calm voice uttered. “I’ve seen one before and you’re nothing like it.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not, but try and explain it our templar friend. He has little if any understanding of the Fade and its creatures. So far he hasn’t been in the mood for a story that would explain.”

“People are afraid of what they don’t understand,” Cole said, belying his otherwise childish mind and behaviour. He made a move forward, his eyes fixed on her as he walked around her bed. “But you should be safe from him,” he said on his way from the window. He sat down on her bed then, looking at her with a soft smile. “You’ve killed templars before,” he added. Then he turned and lied down, placing his head in her lap. It was strange to see a grown up man with so innocent, child-like eyes. But he was far from innocent. “So have you,” she whispered as her fingers found their way into his hair. They were very soft, softer than men usually had. Her smile broadened. “But you needn’t worry about Cullen either. He doesn’t even remember you.”

“Most of the people here have the problem,” he said in small, sad voice. He closed his eyes. “But you remember. Thanks to Her. And Solas thought he’d met me before the other day. He’s coming.”

“Solas?” she asked and the answer was already knocking on the door. She lifted her head and her stomach did a somersault. Her hand never stopped caressing Cole’s hair as she locked eyes with the very templar they’d been just talking about. The door slightly ajar, he stood there, watching them with a blank expression.

She felt Cole move and used it for justified excuse to avoid his eyes. Cole’s hand was slowly sneaking into his pocket. She stilled his hand, holding it in hers as she bent over him. She first kissed his hair and then leaned closer still to whisper into his ear. “Don’t worry, I can handle him if need be. He’s not even armed,” she mumbled and then straightened. “Would you give us a minute, Cole?” she asked and the boy – the man – sat up straight. He shot her an indecisive look.

“Cole?” she insisted in a soft voice and the rogue sighed. He stood up and sauntered to the door, his shoulders sagging. Cullen stepped away and Cole slipped past him soundlessly.

“Come on in,” she invited him, standing up as well. She left the staff on her bed as she rose, hoping it wasn’t a mistake.

“Who was that?” Cullen asked instead, looking into the gloom outside. Then he looked around. “And what’s with the light?” he asked next, hypnotizing the green flames.

“That was Cole, he works for the Inquisition as well,” Anastasia started patiently, joining her hands in front of her body, “and that’s the same flame I used to light your candles, only with a little bit of the Fade magic,” she specified slowly, watching him through narrowed eyes carefully. She heard soft whispers at the edge of her hearing, a sign she was never alone. It was a comforting sound and she let it wash over her like a summer breeze, relaxing significantly.

He contemplated her words for a moment with unconcealed confusion and she only wondered what had him baffled more. A member of the Inquisition he couldn’t remember, or the Fade magic?

“So,” she broke the silence finally. “Why is it you dragged yourself through half of Skyhold?”

“Don’t play coy with me,” he replied and at last stepped in, closing the door. She watched his hand as it remained on the doorknob. “What you told me, begs for explanation,” he demanded in authoritative voice.

“Does it?” she mumbled and lifted her chin. “I told you I know people’s secrets and you didn’t want to believe. More so, you dared to call me a liar,” she added with just a drop of annoyance in her voice.

Cullen on the other hand raised his eyebrows. For the first time, she didn’t sound like a naïve little girl, but a reasonable person. The defiance was in her whole being as she stood unafraid of someone who had such a power over her. It was in her eyes, her posture, her voice... It was difficult to believe a minute ago she had been cowering at his mere standing up behind his desk. “So I gave you the proof, but I didn’t do it gladly. I do not enjoy hurting people,” she finished.

Seeking to placate her, he bowed his head slightly. “And I apologize for offending you.” He stepped closer, leaving the place at the door finally. “I just didn’t think it possible.”

“Then learn your lesson, templar. Just because something escapes your attention, doesn’t mean it’s not right behind you,” she hissed. She bent to pick up her staff and placed it within the pocket of her robes. It was cold and dead once more, just a lifeless piece of stick.

He nodded and turned to examine the closest object in the room, a bookcase. He studied what kind of literature she preferred, or at least pretended to study anyway, as he strode in front of it with hands clasped behind his back. “How did you do it?” he asked quietly.

She folded her arms and waited until he gazed to her again. “Why do you ask?”

There was a slight moment of hesitation before he indulged her. “It’s surely an invaluable talent to have. The Inquisition…”

“No,” she said simply. Her voice was quiet and meek, dropping her arms to her hips. “It doesn’t work like you think it does. Observation can give me only so much information. Not to say, it’s highly inscrutable and very rarely truthful.”

The bookcase forgotten, he turned his whole body to her. “But you described what happened that day in very great details.”

She gave him a bashful smile. “Because you showed it to me in very great details.” While the smile lingered on her face, it was her again. The naïve, silly girl he’d met outside Skyhold chasing after the frightened horse. But then her face grew solemn again, and she looked more like a mage should. “Why should I tell you anything anyway? So that you could decide whether to let me live or not after I am done?”

Cullen frowned deeply. “Do you really take me for such a person?” Maybe it was her imagination that she explained the expression flashing over his features as hurt. And then she remembered his face from when the knife he held broke her skin and drew blood, then slid across her neck.

She dropped her eyes. “I don’t know,” she replied softly, shrugging. “You have never been openly hostile to me or anyone else, but you haven’t been exactly friendly either. I admit, I feel uneasy at your company.” Her voice dropped as she added the next piece. “Even though, for reasons I cannot ever fully understand, a certain part of me wishes to get to know you. After what I’ve seen I’m beginning to doubt my initial opinion about you.”

He didn’t reply for a while, busy processing her words. Over her shoulders he could see the sun set behind a horizon, and darkness crept inside the room. Distinguishing her features anymore, let alone reading the expression she watched him with would have been impossible, if it weren’t for the pale glow light of candles. What did she mean by that? A part of her wanted to get to know him? For reasons she couldn’t ever truly understand?

“Let’s have a walk,” she said finally and he blinked. In the short moment for which his surprise rendered him motionless, she passed him by, brushing her hands by his sides while she slipped past him. She opened the door and walked out. From the windows, made of many tiny panes of glass, she could see the guardsmen outside on the battlements, already lighting up the torches.

He stopped beside her and waited patiently, his mind racing. Then she moved and before he could say anything, her arm slipped through his.

He let her chose the way and just followed quietly. They roamed the empty hallways of Skyhold in silence, until the whole fortress bathed in murk. And just as he started wondering what she might be after, the soft steps next to him stopped and she stilled. She let go of him, taking the pleasant warmth of her body with her. His eyes already used to the dark turned to her. She stood with the window behind her back, so all he saw was her dark silhouette. Only then it occurred to him that this might be what she wanted.

“I’m a Fadewalker,” she said eventually, whispering into the silence. Not even the echo, otherwise present at so many places throughout Skyhold, managed to catch her soft words.

“What does it mean?” he asked watching the outlines of her head. The moon had risen, but its dim silver light was heading away for him. Just as he couldn’t see her face, she was unable to discern his as well. Suddenly, he could appreciate the anonymity.

“Usually, an elaborate ritual is required and a lot of lyrium, too, to get to the Fade. Or it could be as simple as falling asleep.” There was a soft smile in her voice. “I do not need either. I can enter it whenever I want and I can walk through it as freely as if I was born there.”

She made a pause and he saw her turn her head to the side, offering him her profile. He could see her lips were opened slightly.

“When I sleep, I don’t dream like you do. I find myself wandering the Fade, but fully conscious and all my deeds and actions intentional. I can ramble the place, examine it, manipulate it, learn from it,” she chuckled quietly, amusement thick in her voice. “You wouldn’t know how many forbidden books can be found there. I’ve learned a great deal about demons and blood magic and other things they didn’t let us study at the Tower.”

She bent her head slightly and her hand combed her hair. He could almost see the way the silk strands slipped between her fingers.

“I can meet people. Sleeping people. I can see what they’re dreaming about. I can hear them and their dreamy friends. As long as I observe, they don’t know about me. But then, the message I get from them can be tricky. I never know which is an ordinary dream, or something…different,” she mumbled.

He watched her, the way she tilted her head when she spoke, shrugged slightly when unsure, shifted her weight from time to time. “How did you know with me?”

“I didn’t,” she replied simply. “But let me get to that. The thing is, I can talk to them, too. And when they respond, they are always honest. Dreaming people have little secrets, I’ve learned. But…then they remember me in their dreams.”

“You used to talk to the people in your old home,” he concluded, mesmerized by the way she begun playing with her hair. He saw the subtle movement of her arms, how her hair swayed a little as though a soft breeze got up and played with them.

“I was but a little girl. I was curious. I asked people about what I was seeing at the moment. It didn’t take them long to realize something was off with me and… you know the rest.”

“But I don’t remember you from the dream.”

“I didn’t talk to you.” She was smiling. And he could just imagine the soft curve of her lips when she did. She looked like a child, definitely younger than she had to be.

“Then how did you know…”

“I didn’t. My Spirit did.”

“Eh…a spi-“

“I’ve told you,” she cut him off, “that I cannot become an abomination. I wasn’t lying either. I cannot be possessed…” there she faltered, “because I have already been possessed.”

She waited for his reaction, grateful for the dark void hiding everything from her sight. But he didn’t move, he didn’t strike her either. He waited. “The first time I remember entering the Fade,” her words punctuated the silence once again, “I was a little girl without any knowledge about the place. Or its creations. Later on, the inevitable occurred and I met the worst kind of a demon I could…a desire demon. Oh, what an alluring, compelling and persuasive creature. She…she promised me…what my heart craved most. In exchange of this little favour,” she drawled, sounding like she was very, very tired, “she demanded a price.”

“A gateway to our world,” Cullen mumbled.

She nodded. “But then someone else appeared. A figure of bright light of white and yellow and green, and spoke in a voice so soft and soothing…” she paused and closed her eyes, listening to the very voice she was talking about. “I felt warmer and safer just by standing next to her.”

“Another demon?”

She chuckled. “Oh, no. A benevolent spirit. She saved me, and many people around me as well that day. Understanding there was little explanation I would fathom at such a young age, she did the only thing she deemed possible to prevent this from happening ever again.”

“Possessed you.” His voice dropped a notch.

“She asked and made promises, as unimportant as they seemed to me at the time. But she insisted and by the Maker, she has never broken her vows,” she whispered.

“Vows?”

“That she would never fight to control me in this world, unless I wanted her. That she would guide me through the Fade, and tutor me about it. She explained my abilities, taught me to observe unnoticed. She knew your dream wasn’t a dream, but a memory turned nightmare. She insisted I watched. She led me, and I followed and when I saw you and recognized the scene…I couldn’t stop watching.”

He glowered at her. “Would she let you leave?”

“Oh, she would.” Her head bobbed a few times. “But I trusted her, when she had led me. She always did things to help me even though I didn’t understand. Moreover, three times already she has saved my life without asking anything in return.” He heard a soft rustle of her robes as she shifted again. “Of the first time, I’ve already told you. The demon had hardly had my wellbeing on his mind.” She paused to take a breath. “For the second time she has saved me after the Lord Seeker Lambert van Reeves declared the Circle of Magi disbanded.”

Cullen couldn’t help but pause at that. How did she know such details? The name, his title and position in one of the most enigmatic organizations in all Thedas. He himself hadn’t learned the details until joining the Inquisition. “What happened?” he asked.

Her voice was freezing cold when she replied. “The templars came to kill us. They started at the top of the tower where the senior mages resided, the most powerful and the only capable of fighting back, while closing the lower levels to block our escape. I…let her take the reins,” she mumbled, squirming slightly, reaching to put a few strands of her hair behind her ear. Obviously, talking about the day made her uncomfortable.

“And…?” he asked and couldn’t help but frown deeply. He’d seen a mage that let a spirit take over once.

“She transported us all into the Fade, where she was the strongest. There, we are not one being, so while I knelt on the ground, she stood in front of me. She killed the templars and sent us – the mages – back into our world, leaving the rest of the battle up to us.” She bent her head. “I never wanted to see so much blood ever again.”

“So you joined a group of escaped mages from other Circles and spread the idea of a truce between the two belligerent fractions,” Cullen filled the silence. He knew that part at least. That was what she had told Cassandra. She had, of course, omitted all the details about a Fade Spirit.

“The negotiations brought us to the meeting,” she nodded, “where the Spirit saved my life once again.”

“The blast…” Cullen whispered.

“Hit the place when I wasn’t there…in a way. She felt something strange across the Fade, moving along quickly like ripples across the water surface, is how she explained it. She couldn’t see the source, only the ramifications. One second, I was at the meeting, other I dwelled in the Fade. I saw the mountain. I saw what happened through a…hole in the ground. A rift. And then I was falling through it. I saw myself, enveloped in a bright green light, unharmed and lying on the ground.”

“And then you woke up. That was how Cassandra found you. But you claimed to have no recollection of what happened.”

She laughed. “I was protecting myself. How would I explain that a spirit that had possessed me protected me with her own tricks. Besides, I wasn’t sure what really happened myself. It took all the way to Skyhold and more to put the pieces together. It all happened so quickly.”

Cullen cringed, narrowing his eyes, when a bright green light ignited between them from the thin air. She lifted her hand, a flickering flame dancing above her palm. She looked like a ghost in the pale, eerie glow, with shadows moving across her face. “Before, I could only manipulate the Fade while being in it. Now I can do it from this realm as well. And I gained even more. See? I couldn’t lit a candle before as I haven’t specialized in fire spells,” she shrugged.

The fire grew dimmer and smaller, turning into the natural orange blaze until it disappeared completely. He blinked, blind in the dark once more. He froze when he felt her touch on his arm. He looked at where he remembered her standing, but still could see nothing but odd images of the fire like it was still ablaze.

“So?” she whispered and from the sound of it she had drawn closer to him. “What shall it be?”

He took a breath, but found he had nothing to say. He kept the air in his lungs, his mind racing as to whatever he might reply.

“Do I get to live another day?”

“I need time to think,” he finally replied, and was this short from stuttering. “What you’ve told me is extraordinary.”

“I see,” she whispered. Then her hand was gone and he found he suddenly missed the warmth emanating from her palm. Blinking, he realized he could see clearer once more. But she was just turning and begun walking away from him slowly, her heels making soft clanks against the floor.

“Do you do it often?” he shouted after her. His voice carried in the silence, reverberating over and over around him.

“What?” she asked.

“Sticking your little nose in other people’s dreams.”

“No,” replied without hesitation. “There’s nothing in it without talking to them. I spend the time with my Spirit to explore the Fade. It’s ever changing and I learn new things each visit. But…you don’t have to believe me, of course.” He heard one more step. But only one. “Josephine thanks you for the filled orders. You should expect the supplies to arrive in about two weeks time.”


	6. Hanging out

“It is an interesting experience to see things from the other side, Varric,” Cullen nodded. He stared into the fire, its light reflecting in his eyes. But he lifted them to the dwarf who just finished one of his many stories. And he never seemed to have a shortage of those. But he was a good storyteller, that much was clear.

“Yeah, we were a remarkable bunch,” Varric agreed with a smile. “But the times we were just hanging out were even better.”

“What? Did you sit around a fire and watch a hare getting roasted?” Sera asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

Varric just grinned. “For instance, yes,” he replied, quietly. “Or when we realized Joyet was much better at cards than Hawke.”

Vivienne took a slow breath. “You mentioned this name in connection with Hawke’s…mabari. You played cards with a dog?” she asked, obviously dismayed. That expression looked funny on her face while still wearing her horned hat.

Cullen chuckled, shifting a little closer to the fire as the night’s chill was determined to run its cold fingers down his back. His eyes inadvertently shot towards her, huddled in a warm blanket. She shared it with Sera, the two women nestling against each other, each holding one hem tightly. “Not just any dog,” he said and looked away when she met his eye. He focused on Vivienne who was watching him with a slight frown. “Mabari are the most intelligent breed there is.”

“I know,” she replied sharply. “I’ve studied Tevinter history and know of their experiments. Still, it is but a dog,” she added.

“That’s one way to look at it,” Cullen continued, turning his gaze to the smirking dwarf, “but it does seem a little bit farfetched, Varric. I remember Hawke complaining quite often about your exaggerating.”

“I didn’t know you two could talk aside from the usual mage-templar bickering,” Varric shot back promptly.

Cullen leaned back, supporting his weight with his arms. “She often accompanied Lady Leandra when she visited her son in the Gallows. We also often met in the streets of Kirkwall,” he replied just as readily.

“Ah, yes,” Varric nodded, “she mentioned you fancied keeping Junior near.”

“Carver was reliable,” Cullen replied quickly. Then he gave the dwarf a smirk, leaning once again closer to the fire, holding out hands to the pleasant heat the dancing flames emanated. “And his presence often kept Hawke at bay,” he admitted. “Either way, those would be really funny stories, too. For such a fierce and sharp-tongued woman, she was always at loss as to her brother.”

“Why so?” Anastasia asked gently, her soft voice barely carried over the sound of fire crackling and wind howling. She was frowning mildly, her eyes fixed on the hungry flame. There was something wistful about her, too.

Varric bent his head slightly and his voice lost its biting tone. “Junior was her weakness. She loved him, but he didn’t give a damn. For fear of losing him just like their sister, Bethany, she left him home before venturing with us to the Deep Roads. He was all bitter and angry about it and joined the templars while we were trapped in the warren, virtually buried alive. Whenever we spotted him, it was literally troubles coming our way.” Varric sighed. “The only time he actually showed he cared was at the very end. Too little, too late if you ask me.”

“What did he do?” Sera asked, shifting closer to Anastasia and pulling at the blanket to wrap it tighter around herself.

“Stood up to his betters to defend her, stepping right into the Knight-Commander Meredith’s way,” Varric replied with a mirthless smile. Then he nodded towards Cullen. “You showed off, too, advisor. I wouldn’t have the guts o oppose a madwoman Meredith had become.”

“Someone had to,” Cullen replied in a low voice. He frowned into the fire, looking pensive rather than grim. He started talking again, but Anastasia didn’t hear the words. She looked at him with a new-found awe. He had risked his life to save a mage? And an apostate! With every new piece of information she learned about the man, he seemed more of a person and less of a templar in her eyes.

“Busted,” Sera whispered softly into Anastasia’s ear. The mage blinked and looked at the elf who grinned at her. She jerked her head across the fire to the musing ex-templar. “You cannot take your eyes off our little advisor.”

“He sits right in front of me. It’s difficult not to see him,” Anastasia replied in a hushed voice.

Sera nodded, chuckling. “Right...and what about that midnight walk all over Skyhold a week ago I heard so much about?”

“It wasn’t midnight,” Anastasia said and she was glad the fire hid the way she coloured. She felt the heat creep up her neck and cheeks. Why did she blush anyway? It had been innocent and she was just collecting courage to confess her story. Though she did like walking arm in arm with him. It was something she’d dreamed about as a little girl. Meeting a dashing prince she would fall in love with. Though she had abandoned the idea when she’d been sent off to the Circle.

“Details,” Sera purred in her ear. “Oh, look, he’s watching us.”

“Sure thing,” Anastasia pushed her back a little, “when you’re practically kissing my ear.”

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” Sera giggled, shifting closer to her.

“Sera,” Anastasia laughed and shook her head. “You very well know that you don't. You’re just trying to be annoying. And draw attention,” she whispered.

Sera shot her an evil grin. “You know what would draw his attention?”

“I wasn’t talking about his…” she sighed, covering her face with her hand. “I do not want anyone’s attention, so drop this,” she hissed into her face. But Sera kept on grinning like mad and soon Anastasia felt her own smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She snickered. “You, young lady, are hallucinating,” was what she said in betweens the rush of laughter. Then she shook her head and begun rising. “Well, thanks for the stories, Varric, but I feel it’s time for me to…” she stopped and looked down at Sera, pulling at the blanket. The elf rogue had it tightly around her, staring up at Anastasia with big, innocent eyes, but obviously not willing to let go of it. “It’s mine,” Anastasia said and tugged once more.

“I’m cold,” Sera replied simply.

“I’ll be cold at night without it,” Anastasia replied.

Vivienne heaved a sigh and shook her head, while Varric grinned at the two women. Cullen observed with a soft smile, his eyes flicking between Anastasia and Sera.

“Please,” Sera whispered, tilting her head.

Anastasia dropped the blanket and straightened. “Fine. Have it,” she replied, causing the elf to frown in suspicion, as the mage looked around the present company. “Sweet dreams, everyone,” she replied, her eyes lingering on Cullen for a moment. He raised his eyebrows, not sure what her look meant, or if it meant anything at all, and then followed the sway of her hips when she turned away from the fire.

“Eh…Ana?” Sera drawled, turning her head behind her. “Your tent is the other way. Ana?” The mage suddenly broke into run. “Blast it!” Sera swore and sprung to her feet, quickly disappearing into the night, following Anastasia.

“Insufferable,” Vivienne mumbled, “immature and irresponsible behaviour.”

“They’re just having fun. You should try it sometimes,” Varric replied pointedly.

Vivienne flashed him a smile, showing her teeth. It was a dangerous smile and Varric already steeled himself for what was coming. Only then a bright flash of white light came from the direction of where the women had gone to. A sound of people running filled the silence, foot thudding against the dry soil, as the camp guards hurried to see what it was about. Cullen was on his feet as well, a sword drawn and ready, glistening in the flickering light of fire in front of him.

Then, there was a cackle and laughter, and that had everyone by the fire relax significantly. Cullen sheathed his sword again, already heading to find out what the fuss was about. But then he noticed someone appearing from the darkness.

Anastasia walked calmly back to the fire, a mild smile across her face. Her arms hugged another blanket to her chest, her right hand holding a familiar stick. “Sorry for the commotion. Sera accidentally ran into a glyph I had cast. She will unfreeze in a minute or two.”

“You do realize she’s going to hunt you down when she can move again?” Varric asked, but she just smiled. “Not if I ward my tent against her. She won’t be able to find it,” she winked at him impishly and headed away again.

Vivienne frowned deeply, her dark eyes watching the girl until shadows swallowed her. She hummed quietly. “Wards rank among advanced spells. Anastasia, as skilful as she is, has never struck me as particularly experienced Magi to have learned it,” she mused softly. “Intriguing. Maybe there’s something to the girl after all.”

“Well, I’m curious to see how this unfolds,” Varric mumbled and kept casting glances towards the direction of Sera’s tent. Finally, the elf emerged from the shadows quietly and joined their little circle, wrapping the blanket around her body as before. She looked unperturbed.

“What are you doing here?” Varric asked her.

She turned her eyes to him, lazily. “Sitting?”

“She stole your blanket.”

“Because I refused to give her this one,” she waved the free ends of it at him.

Cullen stood up, mumbling his farewells for tonight, but only Vivienne’s head followed him while he headed away.

“You’re not going to get back at her?”

“I am. But not when she’s expecting it. Really, Varric. Strategy.”

Their voices managed to reach his ears for a while yet as he walked from them. He smiled when she passed by Anastasia’s tent, wondering if she really had protected it with her spells or not. Then he remembered Vivienne’s comment and stopped. He gazed at the canvas, musing on it. From his point of view Anastasia’s skills didn’t seem as lacking, but he was no mage. Either way, he had little doubts as for where or how she’d learned such spells. And that inspired an idea.

He walked around her tent, searching for an entry, his steps quiet and soft. He was sure she had to see him against the tent as she had placed the entry facing the fire, but she didn’t react on him standing in front of it. She had to be already in bed then.

He wondered briefly, if she went to sleep or used some other way to enter the Fade or how long she needed for it. Either way, his heart skipped a beat when he whispered her name. He waited then and took a deep breath when he heard gentle rustling from the inside, and then steps coming near.


	7. Fade

The mass of dark clouds veiled the entire city, the roar of heavy rain buzzing tirelessly. Columns of smoke rose high up to the clouds, black and acrid, the fires all around the city only slowly succumbing to the beating force of the downpour. The air smelled of water, but felt more like an ice as cold as it was, making everyone’s breaths a puff of fog in front of their pale faces.

Cullen was shivering in his full plate armour, but it wasn’t from cold. His fingers had gone numb long ago, and were sore from holding the hilt of his sword for so long. His arms trembled, remembering the powerful slashes they had parried. His drenched hair was plastered to his head, cold trickles running down his face and neck. The woman he watched looked just as miserable. Her chest rising and falling quickly as fingers slowly put the black strands of her hair from her pale face.

Her armour was slick and soaked, her bare arm bristled with goose bumps. Her eyes were fixed on the body at her feet, her face was a mixture of repulsion and relief. Leaning on her staff, she bent to wrestle the sword from the dead woman’s iron grasp. Meredith’s blackened fingers cracked audibly and Kaileena whimpered, turning her head away as she shut her eyes close. The sword pulsed in her hand, glowing as red as the blood the rain was slowly washing off her skin and armour. Sparks flew off the tip of the sword as she dragged it across the ground, backing from the carcass, the sound of scrape accompanying the spray.

“We need to go,” a soft voice whispered, and a tanned hand reached to take the sword from Hawke’s trembling hand. The Rivaini pirate Hawke fancied then passed it on to the tattooed elf, both frowning at the lyrium-cursed sword darkly.

“It should be destroyed,” the elf mumbled.

“Can you?” Cullen asked, stepping forward. The clothes under his armour stuck to his body, drenched with sweat and cold rain.

Kaileena’s blue eyes found his and her eyebrows knitted together. “We’ll find a way,” she replied, her voice low and hoarse. “But not here.” It wasn’t a question and it worked just the same. She wanted to know if they could leave or...

Cullen’s eyes fell on the blood on her arms. He’d noticed not all of it was Meredith’s. He’d felt it when the power of blood magic surged across the square. And he finally understood the clawed gauntlet Hawke wore; to tear at her own skin and veins, to draw her own blood, to weaken herself, just to power up her magic.

Be it any other mage, Cullen wouldn’t have hesitated. But Hawke was different. And she did save them. When the lyrium magic in Meredith’s sword woke the statues, Hawke’s blood magic disintegrated them. Cullen had no idea how else they would have defeated stone.

“The templar order needs to take care about the situation in the city,” Cullen gestured towards the Hightown standing not so proudly on the hill above them. “We can’t waste time chasing after an apostate, or anyone associated with her.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and for a moment she looked just like the Hawke he knew, all mischief and impishness. “Congrats on the promotion then. Perhaps,” she paused for a moment, “we’ll meet again.”

“Sister...” A man appeared by his side, making a step forward. His outstretched arm reached out for Hawke, but the mage was already at the gate, never sparing the young templar as much as a glance.

Another person stood by his side suddenly, and this time her presence felt...strange. Queer and yet it felt more real than anything else. Another mage, but one Cullen hadn’t seen accompanying Hawke before. She stood next to him, her sad eyes watching Carver as he hung his head and dropped the begging arm. Her robes were of a dark blue colour and supple leather protected her torso, climbing up her chest to embrace her neck, too. Her shoulders were bare, the soft fabric of her sleeves covering her arms only half way up. Her hair was dark brown, just like the wistful eyes, and cascading down her back. Despite the downpour, there wasn’t a single drop glistening in them, nor a thread of her robes damp.

“Why didn’t she say goodbye?” she whispered, the eyes finding him. She knitted her eyebrows together, turning towards Cullen and simply waiting. She smiled when his eyes widened with recognition at last.

“Serah Trevelyan?” Cullen breathed, taking a step away from her. He felt baffled and confused as his eyes scrutinized her to make sure he wasn’t imagining her. And then he remembered. “You’re in my dream.”

She nodded, magically procuring her staff to lean on it from somewhere. “Just as you asked before you retired. Remember?” she reminded him softly.

Cullen looked around. The templars all around faded into black silhouettes. He could still smell the rain, but the drops weren’t beating against his armour anymore. Suddenly, it was just him and Anastasia standing together, and nothing but vast plane around them. “What...is this place?” he asked, whirling. There were strange, blue veins emanating a soft, dim glow nearby. It pulsed like it was alive. “Lyrium...?” he mumbled and his eyes fell on a distorted, dead tree towering above them. He blinked when he saw a chair balance on its branches. They never lowered under its weight either.

“Lyrium veins are all over the Fade. Highly convenient for such as me. Though overdose of raw lyrium is rather dangerous. Instant kill, to be frank,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “And this place is...” her eyes scanned their surrounding, “just a minor part of the Fade.”

“Fade...” he whispered in awe. “I’ve never...seen it before.” He lifted his head, watching the whirling black sky. He sucked in the air quickly when he noticed a floating mass of earth above them. “What in the name of the Maker...!”

“Don’t,” she warned him gently, placing her hand on his shoulder briefly. “Lest you’ll get a headache. Fade is just a cheap reflection of our world, twisted and warped. Its creatures do not understand the purpose of many things they glimpse in our realm and often place them in the most peculiar places.”

His eyes returned to her face. It was tilted up, watching the same island he’d just studied. She was smiling softly, looking calm and serene like she was watching stars and not a floating piece of earth. She slowly lowered her eyes to him again. “That dream...is this how it happened in the Kirkwall?”

Cullen frowned and looked away from her, his eyes slowly sliding across the nothingness around them. The air seemed to shimmer in the distance, just like it did at deserts and parched plains in hot summer days. “Yes,” he said tersely.

“Why didn’t Hawke say goodbye to her brother?”

“She never forgave him.”

“But...Varric said she loved him,” Anastasia frowned, her eyes darting aside to examine something on the horizon. There was nothing, at least nothing of interest, just a tall wall of rocks in the distance.

“She did, but...ask Varric. He’s better at this. Is all of the Fade so dull?” he asked.

She smiled widely, obviously pleased by his curiosity. “Come,” she said simply and set off, her robes flapping behind her, leaving him little choice but to follow. He ran to catch up with her, the dry land crumbling and slippery under his feet. She set up a brisk pace, making long swift strides, and seemed to have no problems with it.

“Where are we going?” he asked. Glass chinked as they went, her staff stabbing the ground with her every second step. “Someplace safe,” she said. “To pick up Solas.”

“Solas is here?”

She gave him a lopsided smile. “He’s even better at this than me, but his modesty won’t let him admit it.”

“He’s this...this...Fadewalker, too?”

She shook her head slightly. “He can be here, but he’s not like me if that’s what you ask.”

They neared the rocky wall and soon it towered above them, impenetrable and threatening. “Dead end...” he mumbled, turning to the woman by his side questioningly.

She seemed unperturbed. Her eyes searched for something, or examined something he couldn’t see, and then she made a move to touch the solid stone in front of her. She took a breath and when Cullen blinked, her staff was gone. She hid the stick into her robes and reached out to him. “Take my hand.”

He frowned at her palm.

She let it drop. “There’s a door right in front of us. I can get us through, but I need to use magic. However it only covers me and so I need to pull you in behind me.”

He still glowered at her. “What kind of magic?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fade magic. I need to, well,” she paused and shifted her weight nervously, avoiding his eyes all at once, “let’s say I need different eyes to see the door and different hands to unlock it. I am not sure I could persuade you to touch me after I change. Solas called me creepy,” she smiled at him tentatively. “Only he used some more sophisticated word,” she added, still bashful.

“Are you going to change shapes?” Cullen drawled. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea.

“Yes, but it’s not dangerous. I’ve done it a thousand times before.” She reached out again. “Trust me.”

“I’ve got bad feeling about this,” he uttered, still glowering distrustfully, but he did obey. Her hand was soft and warm as his fingers closed around it, and she squeezed tightly.

“You’re cold,” she mumbled with a smile and closed her eyes. And then...something happened. First, her shape grew blurry, like she was just a reflection in a misted looking glass. Then her skin paled and begun to emit a dim white glow. Just as he was about to ask what was going on, a blast of white light blinded him.

In his palm, her hand changed. It wasn’t soft and warm anymore, but dry, freezing cold and bony. He wanted to let go, repulsed, but the gaunt fingers held onto him with surprising strength.

The light faded away, revealing the most hideous creature. A tall, skeletal figure clad in torn rags flowing around its bare feet despite the lack of wind. Its eyes aglow in its ashen, dead face, watching him from under a tall, golden helmet. Its shrivelled lips were pressed together tightly, but they parted when the creature took in a breath, the air wheezing loudly.

Frozen on the spot, Cullen stared at the ugly creature, searching for anything that might indicate what had happened. Was this a demon? Did he fall prey to one of them without noticing? Was he really that easy to fool? All it took was a change into someone he had just begun to trust?

Oh, but what a fool he was. They’d done it before. They’d came to him in her form, too, like she was still alive, seducing him with promises of what might have been.

He wanted to wriggle his hand free, but the creature’s hold was too tight. Its other arm moved in an elegant arch, but not towards him. He blinked when he finally noticed something he hadn’t seen before. A gateway leading through the rock.

The wraith moved, and Cullen gaped when he realized it was floating above the ground. He watched, mesmerized, as the spirit touched the door with one long finger and it opened slowly. On the other side, there was no rock, no vast plain. It seemed to lead into a room. He could see a small portion of it, just a couple of bookcases and a table with several chairs. There was a hooded person with their back to the portal sitting on one of them.

Then the spirit tugged at his arm and he followed, wide-eyed. He held his breath as he walked through the gateway and suddenly the air grew warmer.

The person stood up, whirling to welcome them and Cullen stared when he recognized their elven companion Solas. His hand was suddenly free and when he turned to gaze at the spirit, it was Anastasia who stood in front of him again, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I warned you I wasn’t exactly pretty and I know touching me couldn’t be pleasant,” she said in low voice, hands playing together nervously. “But I wouldn’t be able to guide you through the portal otherwise.”

Solas approached the pair and rested his hand on Cullen’s shoulder. “Impressive magic, isn’t it?” he asked quietly, smiling at the young mage. “Shame it cannot be practiced in the realm of men.”

“What was that thing?” Cullen asked, not sharing Solas’ enthusiasm in the slightest. The memory of the cold, dead hand clutching his made him shudder.

“A spirit,” Anastasia replied hesitantly. “One of the many forms I can transform in. This one allows me to see things hidden in the Fade,” she explained and waved her hand to the portal. But there was none when Cullen spun to examine it. They stood in a middle of the room he’d seen through the opened gateway, but the door was nowhere to be seen. It was just an ordinary room, a study. Only the strange blur at the edge of everything around him suggested something was not as it should be.

“This place is where we can dwell undisturbed by any creature of the Fade,” Solas explained, gesturing around.

“What is this place exactly?” he asked warily.

Solas gazed at Anastasia. The younger mage cleared her throat. “Well, it’s my corner of the Fade, if you pardon the expression. It took me years to build it and only thanks to generous help of my Spirit, I’m afraid. She warded the place and made sure there was no other way in, but the ghost passageway,” she pointed at nothing behind Cullen’s back.

Solas nodded. “I am always brought here the same way you were. Only I dare to say I took it in stride.” The elf was smiling.

“Of course you did, you have some experience with the Fade,” Anastasia shrugged and headed to the table. It was an old thing, plain and simple, made of wood and nothing else, just like the chairs around. She sat down into one, not bothered by them looking like they could crumble under her weight. She put her staff on the table, rolling her neck.

Solas motioned Cullen to join her, and headed to the last chair, sitting on it so gracefully and elegantly as if it was a throne. “Not as grand as yours, I’m afraid. I still do not understand all the tricks you can perform.”

“Like I told you, it’s Spirit, not me. I cannot cast even the stupid wards and that’s the least difficult magic around here,” she explained to Cullen, adding it obviously just for his benefit.

“But...at the camp...didn’t you...?”

She bit her lip sheepishly and dropped her eyes. “Empty threats. I mean...I could ward the tent if I called forth Spirit, but she’s not interested in such mundane problems.”

“Is she not?”

Solas answered. “That’s the point of benevolent spirits. They have little interest to enter our world beyond a mere curiosity. Their attention is scarcely destructive and never forced upon anyone not willing.”

“I...cannot wrap my head around it,” Cullen mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. Only now, when he didn’t feel the cold of his metal gauntlets, he realized the armour he’d worn in his dream had vanished. Instead, he wore simple breeches and a linen shirt he remembered putting on before retiring to bed.

He frowned and glanced at Solas. He wore attire similar to what he might wear at day. Anastasia on the other hand had never donned armoured robes of a battle mage. She was rarely engaged in combat from up close, and she had a few tricks up her sleeve to protect herself as well as the people around her.

“So...” he took a deep breath, carefully leaning back. When he didn’t hear any cracks or squeaks foretelling his chair might fall apart, he grew more comfortable. “Do you two spend every single night like this?” he asked slowly, gesticulating to the room around them.

“No,” Solas shook his head. “Often we are out exploring and battling scores of demons.”

Anastasia was slightly frowning when Cullen looked at her expectantly. “Not scores,” she corrected him. “And while I’m not limited, Solas still can continue his dreams if he wishes to. If so, then I roam this place with none other but my Spirit.” She paused and as Cullen started looking around, she added. “You don’t have to look for her. She’s right here.” Her delicate hand patted her chest.

“Didn’t you say you are not one person in the Fade?” the ex-templar asked back promptly.

“You...paid attention. I mean, yes,” Anastasia straightened and smiled softly, something warm and pleasant spreading through her stomach. He had listened to her and moreover, he had remembered. She wasn’t sure she understood the sudden feeling, but it meant something to her. “I did,” she replied, drawling the two words as she tried to fight the smile. She failed, but strangely enough she didn’t mind that much. “But I meant that we can be apart should we choose, not that we are forced to. Unlike in our world, where Spirit can never leave the limitations of my body.”

“Which is the difference I was talking about,” Solas finished meekly, patting Anastasia’s hand on the table.

“So you’re not always together here?” Cullen asked after a short silence while their words about spirits and worlds sunk in.

Solas leaned back, fingers running over the edge of the table slowly. “No, we are not,” he replied, narrowing his eyes at Cullen. Then they flicked to the other mage for a fleeting moment, and back to the advisor, knowing expression settling on the elf’s face. Cullen glowered at him.

“Solas is quite capable of handling himself, and so am I even without the help of my Spirit,” Anastasia replied, oblivious to the silent exchange. “Also, even if we wanted, Solas is still bound to disappear from time to time,” she added with a smile. “When his sleep catches up with him and his dreaming ends. Just like it will with you in time,” she replied nonchalantly.

“Wait. What?” Cullen blinked, breaking the eye contact with the elf to gaze at Anastasia.

She shrugged, smiling softly. “Well, I’ve noticed a pattern. People sleep in phases. One of them is when I can meet them here, the other...well, they are asleep,” she broke off, shrugging again, “but they are not in the Fade. This happens several times a night. Each time they appear, they have a different dream. And they can remember only the first, or the second, or the last, or none. It’s...fascinating,” she smiled broadly.

Cullen just stared with incredulity.

“I would believe her. She’s studied sleeping people for years,” Solas replied calmly. His chin rested on top of his joined hands as he watched the ex-templar. “Either way. We can sit here and admire this beautiful room, or go out,” he gestured to the door that wasn’t there. Cullen still wasn’t sure he understood this.

“Ooh,” Anastasia started in high voice, all excited like a child, “we could go talk to that riddle spirit!”

“R-riddle spirit?” Cullen echoed weakly.

“Yes!” she nodded. “He’s a very entertaining one and we often exchange riddles. He’s always glad to see me,” she added.

“And if we fail...?”

“Nothing,” Solas drawled. “It’s a spirit. Not a demon. It’s more entertaining for him anyway. He has little to pass time in the Fade unlike us.”

“Unless you want to go find some Shades or Wisps, of course, but I’m not in a mood for more killing,” Anastasia offered, frowning.

“He doesn’t have a sword,” Solas reflected patiently.

“Oh, right...” Anastasia mumbled and rose to her feet. “Then it’s the spirit first, and then...we’ll see,” she smiled. Her eyes found Cullen and the smile slid off her lips. “You need to hold my hand again, I’m afraid.”

She was surprised when he offered her a ghost of a smile. “It’s not holding _your_ hand that worries me, Serah Trevelyan,” he replied, already reaching out.


	8. Incredible

Dewy grass glistened in the first rays of a morning sun. The air was chilly and smelled of water and nearby forest. Mist hung above the meadow all around the camp, beautiful and mysterious. Birds just began singing their tunes high up in trees, their voices piercing the slumberous silence, a reveille to the world around.

Anastasia smiled to herself as she left her tent. The canvas was damp against her skin, hinting a drizzle falling sometime during the night. She shivered lightly when the cool air caressed her skin even through her clothes, but it didn’t wipe the smile from her face.

“Good morning, inquisitor,” a quiet mumble startled her as a patrol neared her. A pair of guardsmen nodded to her, passing her by and disappearing between tents, while she mumbled a reply. The address felt queer to her no matter how often she heard it. And she was hearing it more and more often as of late.

The deeper the gossip about her unearthly abilities seeped into the Inquisition, the more respect she suddenly had. They recognized her for the one capable of dealing with the situation instead of the mage following Inquisition troops. It still made her feel insecure when they called her that, knowing she was acknowledged for something she didn’t even know how she learned.

Her arms went around her body, protecting herself from the cold, as she headed away from her tent. Grass rustled under her feet, her robes darkening as the dew soaked the fabric brushing the ground

They were utterly quiet until she stepped into their view. Her horse tossed her head, her mane flying about, as she greeted her rider. She whinnied softly and Anastasia hurried to her, mumbling soothing noises as she caressed her nostrils. Latica watched with big eyes, raking the ground with her hooves impatiently, obviously eager to get underway again.

“Come now, girl, we’ll set off soon enough,” Anastasia mumbled, stroking the side of her neck. “But you must promise not to throw me from the saddle again. My side still hurts from the last time,” she added with a smile. “I will steal an apple for you from the kitchens if you’re nice to me today.”

“I don’t think it was mostly the horse’s fault you fell yesterday,” a voice spoke up behind her.

She didn’t turn around, just kept on petting Latica in slow, deliberate motion. However, she made a face, crossing her eyes at Latica and sticking her tongue out. Then she looked at the large stallion next to her mare. He stood unmoving, watching his rider getting close quietly and patiently. He snorted only when Cullen approached him, touching him between his eyes and sliding his hand up between his ears.

“Good morning to you, too,” Anastasia replied, feigning cold indifference. She could see him watching her from the corner of her eye, but something in her didn’t let her meet his gaze.

“Why are you up so early?” he asked.

She shrugged, dropping her hand from the horse. “I woke up and felt rested enough. And I like the quiet out here. It’s a different kind of quiet before the sun fully rises,” she added with a smile.

“That’s something I don’t understand,” Cullen admitted, his hand still absentmindedly petting Shemeeck’s head. “You’re up all night, but I don’t remember ever seeing you tired in the morning.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you feel fresh?”

“I do,” he replied slowly, locking his eyes with hers. He wrinkled his forehead thoughtfully. “I see,” he mumbled, turning his attention to his warhorse again. “Incidentally, that was...an incredible night. Thank you.”

She giggled and he sent a quizzical expression her way. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled and chuckled again. “I know people can never see what the Fade looks like usually, but I just remembered your face whenever you saw something...anything,” she shrugged. “I spent third of my life in the land of dreams and what you saw, what we did last night was completely ordinary. I mean, nothing incredible about it from my point of view.”

“You turning into a dead spirit, doors appearing out of nowhere, talking to see-through creatures,” he paused, blinking as if still couldn’t grasp the mere notion of what he was about to say, “things appearing solely because you believed they existed.” He shook his head. “If this isn’t incredible, nothing else is.”

Anastasia smiled, but didn’t reply. There were things she considered incredible herself, like the two of them talking peacefully. She had never imagined she could just walk up to a templar and have a civil talk before. She had spent years fearing them. Each time she could feel their eyes on her, she felt terrified and wanted to be invisible or someplace else. Having an attention of a templar usually meant you were doing something you shouldn’t, and even if you weren’t, it was just better not to stand out. Anastasia had learned to understand this quickly.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, watching the mysterious smile playing on her lips.

It grew broader. “Isn’t this a rather personal question? I’m not sure we’re that familiar with each other.”

Cullen shrugged, looking all innocent when he replied calmly: “Well, we did just spend a night together.”

Anastasia lifted her eyebrows at that, giving him a curious look. “Why, yes. We did,” she drawled, narrowing her eyes at him. “That only makes me wonder where you’d fit Solas into our night.”

“Solas?” Cullen frowned. “Solas who?”

She chuckled and cuffed his shoulder playfully. She noticed he was wearing the same breeches like in the Fade, and had little doubts that the surcoat he’d put on hid the same linen shirt as well. Did he hear her responding to the patrol and follow her so quickly he hadn’t had a chance to change? Why would he do that?

“Am I interrupting something?” a stern voice asked slowly, coming from the tents. The two of them glanced her way as Cassandra emerged from behind the closest canvas. She’d already donned her black armour with the white eye of the Inquisition emblazoned on its breastplate. She even carried her sword, but her step was light and she didn’t look as wary as she was on the road.

She didn’t wait for an answer as she went on. “I’m glad to see you awake so soon, Cullen. I’d like to get to Skyhold before nightfall so I suggest packing the camp and setting off within an hour.”

“Why hurry so much?” Anastasia asked.

Cassandra looked surprised. “Have you forgotten? We should be heading to Val Royeaux next and it’s not a short journey*,” she replied and then turned her brown eyes to Cullen again. “I want us to leave Skyhold on the morrow.”

Anastasia dropped her eyes and turned her back to the warrior, reaching out to interweave her fingers through Latica’s mane again. She knew Cassandra couldn’t drag the whole Inquisition to the masquerade, but still felt sad for being left behind. Cassandra had decided to take only one mage and the choice was pretty obvious.

Solas was an elf. This in itself was enough to eliminate him as a prospective candidate. Orlais had even more scornful approach to elves than the rest of Thedas and while he could be, of course, admitted to such an occasion as a member of the Inquisition, it would cause unwanted commotion among the nobility.

Dorian was...well, he wasn’t a bad choice. He knew his way around people, could be charming one minute and acid the next if necessary, but he was from the Tevinter Imperium. As a mage he was used to be the superior one, and it was his cocky demeanour that had Cassandra worried.

Anastasia was out of question as well. Albeit a noble, her family didn’t hold any prestige in Orlais to impress local aristocracy enough to condone her awkward people skills. She was a stranger to this nation and an unimportant as well.

Plainly, Vivienne was the best candidate. She knew Orlais, its customs and etiquette. She rose high enough in the society and most importantly – she was familiar with the Game. And Anastasia didn’t doubt she could also play it adeptly.

It wasn’t like Anastasia wanted to have a dance at one of the Orlesian luxurious balls so badly. She wasn’t even sure if she remembered all the dance steps. No. She would be happy enough to get to Val Royeaux and be free to roam the city and admire it. Visiting as grand a city as the Orlesian capital was her dream come true.

“I’ll issue orders to my men immediately,” Cullen replied, bobbing his head.

“Thank you,” Cassandra replied and Anastasia could hear a soft smile in her voice. She wasn’t as tough and rough as she liked to pretend so much. It only took some effort to see the sensitive, kind woman behind all the armour, but it was worth the endeavour.

Anastasia listened to her steps as she headed back to the camp and eyed Cullen when he sighed. He patted Shemeeck’s neck one final time as a goodbye. But he didn’t walk away, his eyes fixed on Anastasia’s profile.

She smiled when she realized he was watching her. It was a brave expression of which the only purpose was to mask the sadness he’d glimpsed. “Maybe I’ll get better with the spear before you’ll be back. I guess I’ll have plenty of time to spar at Skyhold. Garret’s turned real strict on me.”

“I...recommend him to be less lenient with you,” Cullen admitted quietly. His mind was already working on the excuse. He could say that he saw her feeble efforts and, worried for her safety, wanted her to work harder and thus asked Garret to make sure she did. At least that was what he had kept repeating inwardly when he had headed to the armoury after Leliana’s innocent observation.

“I figured that much,” Anastasia responded after a short pause while he hesitated. She still refused to meet his eyes, watching her mare instead. “Maybe it’s deserved. I need more practice. I’m clumsy,” she shrugged and bent her head to look at her free hand, the other still curled in Latica’s mane. “Good thing I’m a mage, I guess. I don’t think I could make a living if I had to work manually,” she whispered with a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

Cullen’s eyes dropped to her hand as well and he noticed they weren’t as soft-looking as they felt in his hand back in the Fade. Calluses from holding the spear tightly adorned her palm and weeks on the road took their toll as well, her skin cracked at her knuckles.

Just like with the robes, the Fade showed her like she somehow commanded it to make her look like. Spending her childhood as nobility and then sheltered in the Tower of Magi, she wasn’t probably used to this kind of life. But only now Cullen realized just how much she had to hate it as well and miss how things used to be before.

Without thinking, Cullen reached out and captured the hand she studied in his. Within a heartbeat, just as his eyes met hers, he silently admitted there was a different reason behind her calloused hands, one utterly and completely selfish that he dreaded to admit even to himself. Her brown orbs widened when his lips kissed her knuckles, his warm breath tickling her skin for a moment both ephemeral and eternal.

That she had stopped breathing she realized only after he disappeared between the tents like Cassandra had. She let all the air out of her lungs slowly, listening to his voice barking orders left and right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I know it was said the masquerade would take place in Halamshiral (presumably?) instead of Val Royeaux, but since I mentioned the capital in chapter 4, I’ll stick to it even though it’s not correct. Headcanon O:-) And thank you all for reading!


	9. Of wounds and scars

Truth to be told, Anastasia had noticed her progress. She still fell off her horse more often than others, or rather was the only one falling off, but it wasn’t on a daily basis anymore. For which her backside was infinitely grateful. It already hurt as it was, from spending so much time in the saddle. Even back in the Tower she had more opportunities to stand up and stretch her legs.

“You look quite grim today,” a cheerful voice mumbled and soon Sera’s dapple walked next to her mare. Latica looked quite sad next to the black and white horse, her being just an ordinary shade of dark brown. But her fur was glossy and nice and Anastasia liked her little mare despite her common looks.

“My butt hurts,” she just griped quietly.

Sera laughed. “Too bad. Still a couple of hours before we reach Skyhold.”

“I’m glad my misery brightens your day so much,” she muttered, lifting her eyes to the sky. She couldn’t see the sun hidden behind a veil of grey clouds, but knew they still had several hours of daylight left. And Cassandra was confident they would make it to the fortress before sunset. They had already begun the climb in the mountains, so she was probably right.

“You need to focus on other things but your aching behind,” Sera suggested, smirking as she tightened her horse’s reins. He reacted promptly, nearing to Latica so much Sera’s and Anastasia’s legs touched briefly.

“Like staying on top of my horse,” she hissed, carefully leading Latica further from the troublesome elf.

“Exactly,” the rogue grinned even more, mischievous sparks lighting her eyes. Her horse moved closer once again.

“Is this for the glyph?” Anastasia hissed at her, manoeuvring Latica away.

Sera chuckled darkly. “How can you even think something so terrible about me? Now, Ana, you hurt me.”

“So it is,” Anastasia sighed. “You got what you deserved for wanting to let me freeze throughout the night.”

“And I’ve heard a couple of guards murmuring something about what a night it had to be. You probably weren’t as cold as you had been afraid.” The grin on her face faltered suddenly. “It was quite unexpected news.”

“What?” Anastasia frowned, turning her voice down when a guardsman marching nearby looked their way. “Why? Is your blanket warmer?”

Sera didn’t answer, but stirred her horse closer again. This time it wasn’t just their legs touching. The two animals bumped into each other with their shoulders gently.

Anastasia sighed in exasperation and moved to dismount. Her butt was aching terribly and her legs begged her to change position anyway, and if she could choose between falling and walking, walking was definitely it. She freed one leg from the stirrings and as it was passing above Latica’s back something swooshed by her ear. What happened next was too quick for her to register. Suddenly, she lost her balance as Latica panicked, reared up screaming, and she was falling. She heard cries and shouts, loud thuds of heavy boots.

And then her fall ended and the world exploded into white, blinding pain. Latica ran forward, dragging Anastasia behind her as her other foot got stuck in the stirrings. It felt like her head was on fire, skin scraped off her face completely, before she finally freed her leg and her body fell with a painful grunt. She heard her horse dashing away, felt the ground shaking.

She whimpered and whined, cradling her face. She felt dirt and crushed stones mixed with her blood and her hands were shaking when she watched the warm liquid on her palm. Slowly, the sounds came all back to her, and she heard it. Voices screaming, shouting orders and commands, crying in pain. Swords clashed and arrows whizzed through the air and she heard the distinctive thwack of Varric’s Bianca.

She looked around. All riders were down from their horses, the scared animals running from the frenzy, some screaming in pain, arrows protruding from their bodies. Their guards had already formed a protective circle around the weaker fighters and their own archers. Up above them, hidden behind the rocks formation, their attackers raced to them, waving swords and axes above their heads, or banging them against their shields. Their war cries were cacophony of voices, not a single word intelligible.

Anastasia’s hand searched for her staff and she let out a shaky breath of relief to find it safely in her hidden pocket. The wood grew warmer as soon as she touched it, reaching deep into her to channel mana. The stick elongated and the white crystal flashed on its top as she created a protective barrier around herself.

She blinked away the black spots and used the back of her hand to wipe the blood from her eyes, not even realizing she couldn’t feel the pain suddenly, as she searched the rocks above them for archers. As on cue, an arrow with red feathers at its end bounced off her barrier and as she flinched, her head spun. The bolt of white energy she shot from her staff missed, spraying rocks and grit as it hit the rock two meters from the archer.

A shout alarmed her in time to see one of the attackers running to her. Dressed in full plate armour, serrated sword ready to strike her down . His eyes shone madly with bloodlust through the slit in his helmet. And then she felt it. The tingle of familiar magic that was meant to dispel her own. Her eyes widened. One chop and her barrier would be down.

Glass chinked when her staff stabbed the ground forcefully and it begun shaking around her. Dust rose from the parched path and the thug staggered, falling back. Suddenly, a screaming smudge of white and black was on him, Cassandra’s sword penetrating the protective plates like it was a mere paper. She shot Anastasia a quick look and the mage nodded.

“Shoot the archers!” Cassandra bellowed at top of her lungs, trying to be heard over the fuss and clash of swords and shields. She moved awkwardly, fighting with the remnants of earthquake, teetering as she turned to face the battle. She didn’t move from Anastasia, however, standing ready to protect her.

The staff pulsed with white light as she extended her protective barrier to include the warrior as well, the wood burning in her palm and tingling with magic she had poured into it, and then she focused her eyes up. Half of the archers were already down, their bodies scattered down the steep slope, bleeding and limbs twisted into unnatural angles from the fall. Some had arrows and darts in them, some were scorched by Vivienne’s magic. As Anastasia shot another deadly bolt her dazed mind realized she was the only one throwing spells around. Her eyes flicked to where she remembered the skilled enchanter, but Vivienne’s horned hat was nowhere to be seen. Another flash, another hit. They aimed their arrows at her and with each one ricocheted off, she felt the barrier weakening. Her knees trembled from the effort of keeping it up, sweat broke on her forehead.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the fray was over.

“Bloody red templars,” Cassandra hissed, kicking the body in front of her as she turned it around.

Anastasia groaned and leaned on her stave, suddenly feeling every single muscle of her body. Her face was on fire and the world spun around her. She collapsed on the ground, breathing through her mouth as she rested, sitting on her heels.

Then she heard her name, the call urgent and hoarse. She fought to get to her feet and then ended up being pulled up by a strong hand that grabbed her elbow. “Vivienne is down,” someone whispered breathlessly. “How about your head?”

“Fine, Cass,” Anastasia wheezed, blinking. “I can wait.” People moved around her, searching the dead bodies and shouting their findings. They fussed over their hurt comrades and Anastasia caught the familiar sound of unstoppering a potion. “What happened to her?”

“A former templar got her. That’s why I hurried to find you before they’d strike you down as well,” she replied quickly, her hold becoming almost painful on Ana’s arm while she led her. Her pace was too quick and Anastasia stumbled a few times from exhaustion and dizziness, but Cassandra steadied her each time.

She dragged her staff behind her and dropped it when she saw the scene. Vivienne lay unconscious, the ground around her red with her blood. Its scent was heavy in the air and it made Anastasia’s stomach lurch and she gagged, falling on her knees next to her. Her head hurt as all her muscles tensed while she fought with her own body, but managed to get a control of herself. She took a ragged breath through her mouth. Carefully, she began unfolding the cut rags of her clothes to see the damage, her hands shaking even more than before. “Okay, it’s bad,” she mumbled, her voice weak, as she examined her ripped stomach. “Please, don’t let it be too late,” she wheezed and closed her eyes, hands above the wound. Searing pain burnt her insides and pulsed in her head as she tried to dig for whatever mana she got left. She stopped breathing with the effort, focusing all her attention into healing.

“It’s working!” Cassandra’s voice whispered when the flesh begun mending together slowly. “Just a little while longer, Ana,” she encouraged the younger mange, but her words barely registered. The surroundings became a blur and than the darkness creeping at the edge of her vision for so long finally took a hold of her world.

She woke to a soft swaying and strong arm around her waist. She was leaning against something hard and uncomfortable behind her back, but her head rested in something warm and soft. She couldn’t open her left eye and when she touched her face, groaning softly, she felt wet bandages under her palm.

“Slowly,” a quiet voice purred into her ear. “Give it some time.”

“What happened?”

“You passed out,” Cullen explained softly. “While healing Vivienne. Cassandra was afraid there could be more of them so we got underway as soon as we were able.”

“Is Vivienne all right? She looked really bad,” she drawled wearily.

“She is going to make it. Your magic worked, but she will need more.”

She moved her head, opening her right eye to look at him. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

He chuckled and she felt the armour behind her vibrate as he did. “She’ll have to wait until we reach Skyhold. Don’t worry. We’re almost there.”

“I want to see her,” she said, trying to move but his arm around her stomach tightened.

“She lies in a stretcher towed by Cassandra’s horse. She wasn’t fit to sit up and ride. She woke for a moment, but before we strapped her in properly she blacked out again.”

“Why am I not in a stretcher, too?” Anastasia asked quietly.

Cullen remained unresponsive for a few heartbeats. “It’s a bumpy ride. Vivienne is lucky not to feel it actually. Also, we don’t have that many stretches. We’ve lost a few man and we’re taking them back to Skyhold.”

“By the Maker,” Anastasia stopped breathing for a moment. “How many?”

“Three of my boys,” Cullen replied and his voice had an edge to it. “More wounded, but nothing as serious as Vivienne. Or you. You looked terrible when I got to you.”

“Exactly what a girl wants to hear,” Anastasia murmured, closing her eye. She grimaced and then hissed with pain, forcing her face to relax. “Why does my head hurt so much,” she whimpered almost inaudibly.

“You…don’t remember?” Cullen asked slowly, sounding worried. She felt him shift behind her. He loosened his tight grip of her and she responded by taking a deep breath. “No,” she wheezed. “I just remember the fight. But it’s all vague.”

“Well, your horse…”

“Latica,” she cut him off.

“Yes, Latica,” he said quietly and she could feel him nodding. “I told you the first day she wasn’t suitable for you, but you just had to pick her, didn’t you?”

“I’m headstrong,” she replied, her lips curling up slightly.

“Good for you,” he replied and sighed. He seemed reluctant to continue. “She…dragged you behind her. Your leg got stuck in the stirrings. You were lucky you freed yourself quickly enough.” He could feel her tense in his arms. “Sera told us she provoked you and you wanted to climb down before you fell again. They chose this moment to strike. The arrow aimed at your head, but when you leaned closer to Latica to dismount, it hit her instead. She ran away and…” he trailed off.

He looked down when he felt her hand cover his, the one wrapped around her body to keep her upright. Her fingers closed around his hand tightly and her anxiety found its way to her voice. “And?” Anastasia breathed softly. “Have you found her?”

“Yes,” Cullen replied quietly. He’d pulled off his gauntlets when he had pulled Anastasia’s limp form up onto his horse with a help of his men, so he felt it when her hand begun shaking after he didn’t add anything else.

It took her moment to relax against him, her grip on his hand loosening. She leaned back, resting her head on his shoulders again. She stared up at the darkening sky, her face blank, her right eye glassy. Left side of her face was bandaged, but there was a dark smudge soaking through already. They had cleaned the wound as best as they could and dressed it, but it surely needed more attention. Cullen didn’t doubt she’d heal it once she felt better.

Cullen let out a long breath, once again thanking the Maker inwardly that he’d watched over her. She got really, really lucky. Cullen had seen men die this way and it wasn’t a nice way to go. Silently, he wondered if she’d ever had the courage to ride again.

“Where did you get the scar?” she asked quietly, sounding choked up. She was very fond of her little, troublesome mare no matter how often she threw her from the saddle.

Only now he noticed her attention was fixed on his face, on his lips to be precise. She was eyeing the scar with wistful expression.

“It’s a long story.”

“It’s so narrow and straight,” she mumbled, reaching up to touch it. She stopped herself when her hand was a hair away from his face, dropping it to her lap. “A dagger. Or a point of a sword maybe?”

He cleared his throat. “It was a dagger. Your guess is correct, my lady,” he nodded and focused on the path in front of them. Not that he needed it. Shemeeck knew the way and could follow it without his guidance. Soon they’d finish the climb and emerge on the plain he’d first seen her, just outside Skyhold. From there it was just a short journey across a long bridge and up a slight slope to the large gate.

It was a matter of one hour if they took their time, and he knew if he decided to take a nap in the saddle, he’d wake in the middle of Skyhold’s courtyard. But he needed to escape her gaze.

He had offered to ride double with her, explaining his horse was used to a heavy weight and would have no problem in the parched, crumbly terrain of the mountains. In truth, he had begun liking her presence. She was silly, cheerful and naïve, but it was so appealing in this troubled time. At first, he though it stupid. Then interesting. Suddenly, the interest turned into attraction. With each day he spent on the road with her he felt this need to know more about her, to keep an eye on her, to make sure she was safe. In the Fade, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was where she knew it best and she radiated such confidence it was difficult to focus on anything else.

And now…now he was afraid she’d see this all reflecting in his eyes if he looked at her now, from this up-close.

“My lady?” she echoed. “My lady, Inquisitor, Serah Trevelyan, mage… Why do you never use my name?”

“Trevelyan is your name,” he opposed.

“My family name. One I have discarded since joining the mages at their magnificent Towers.”

Cullen smiled hesitantly. “Very well, if it’s your wish.”

“It is,” she replied in a whisper and they both fell silent. Wind got up as they climbed, howling and blowing against them as they begun crossing the plain. The sky was darkening slowly, but there was still plenty of light left. Though in a distance, Anastasia could see the small flickering lights floating in the air above Skyhold battlements. They were home.


	10. Stranger

“Ho, careful there, girl!” A pair of large, strong hands caught her by her waist as she slipped off the horseback, easing her gently on the dry ground.

She rested her hands on his broad shoulders, weakly smiling as she tried to push back the dull pain pulsing over half of her face. Every sound hurt and with the chaos that had erupted with their arrival, it was difficult to concentrate on anything but the burning pain. Heavy boots thumped all around them, guards running to and fro. Soldiers and servants spoke one over another, turning the courtyard into a human beehive. Loud buzzing of their voices pressed Anastasia’s ears uncomfortably, making her world sway even more violently, and she had problems registering all the people swarming the place, while they saw to the wounded first.

Blackwall touched her chin gently, tilting her head back as he examined the blood-soaked bandages. “Let’s get you somewhere peaceful where you can heal yourself,” he said and wrapped his arm around her waist, leading her away from the hustle.

“Cullen,” she mumbled, turning around to get a glimpse of him. She wanted to tell him where she was going. She wanted to ask him about Vivienne or if she was needed again. She wanted to…talk to him. Just…to talk to him.

“Nah, little one,” Blackwall shook his head, guiding her away from the courtyard. She was only barely aware of walking up the grand staircase leading to the great hall. “We’ll need to whip you back to shape, first. If not healing, then I’ll redress the wound. To infirmary with you.”

“I could try healing,” she replied drowsily, dragging her legs up yet another step. And another. There were thousands of them, piling up on and on. The wound seemed to sap her of energy substantially, and she could have felt it while crossing the last plain to Skyhold. The closer they had got, the more exhausted she had felt, lying limp in Cullen’s gentle one-handed embrace as he guided Shemeeck to their goal. He’d been talking to her, making her reply. Each time she’d closed her eyes, he’d roused her up again. “Had to heal Viv, first. She was dying.”

“Then you did a good job. Her injuries looked painful, but not life-threatening. But next time, heal yourself at least a little bit first. It’s no use when a healer passes out,” he murmured into her ear.

She was breathing heavily while Blackwall seemed to have no problem climbing up. Their progress was slow as he’d adopted her pace, allowing her to rest whenever she needed. She was glad he hadn’t hoisted her up in his arms, for she wanted to show she was just as tough as the rest of them. Cullen was surely watching them.

“Latica is dead,” she whispered when she caught her breath finally, moving on again, one step at a time. Thousands of them remained yet ahead, but she was determined not to give up.

“Latica? Oh, your horse. The spirited one,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“She caught an arrow,” she kept her voice down as if raising it a notch could drain her strength even more. “She ran scared and b-broke her leg on the terrain she didn’t know well,” she added, feeling tears welling up in her eyes once again. “She had to be so terrified.”

“That’s life. Bad things happen. Come, we’re almost there. Just a few more steps,” he urged her gently, helping her, supporting, but giving her all the time and space she needed. “What about the ambush?”

“Cassandra thought they were red templars,” Ana replied slowly, stopping at the top of the stairs to catch her breath. “They thought we had lyrium. That doesn’t make sense. We don’t have red lyrium, just…blue. For the templars.”

“Like fighting a horde of hellspawns isn’t enough, we have to mindlessly butcher each other, too,” Blackwall growled and then heaved a sigh. He slowly pushed the gate open and held it for her, gently pushing her in. She teetered a little without his support, but remained standing.

He closed the gate and they set off again. Ana closed her eyes, trusting his guidance, and let the sounds of their steps soothe her, the familiar scents welcome her home. She smelled dust and old books and fine leather. She took a deep breath and the smell of tapestries adorning the walls filled her nose, so did the polish servants used to clean the empty armour sets standing guard day and night. She smelled food as well, a mixture of sweet smells lingering after dinner, and she could hear her stomach demand its due loudly.

So did Blackwall. He chuckled shortly. “Glad to hear your appetite’s not gone. Then your wound can’t be so serious.”

“I’m just scraped a little,” she mumbled, leaning into him. “It’s mostly the healing that knackered me so much,” she added in a low voice. She could tell when they drew near the infirmary. It had its own characteristic aroma filling the corridors nearby.

She was infinitely glad when Blackwall sat her down onto a bed and begun unwrapping the bandages. She could hear people moving around her, but no one stopped to ask if they needed help, but she couldn’t care less at the moment. The cloth had stuck to the wound and removing it made it bleed again and Anastasia bit down tightly, trying not to moan or hiss. Finally, he was done and she took a deep breath, opening her eyes finally.

Blackwall was examining the wound, leaned close to her but not touching, a frown wrinkling his forehead. He took in what she had called a little scrape, though he’d disagree definitely. Wisps of her hair had been torn out, the skin gone with it. Her cheekbone shone from the raw flesh before blood hid it away, and he was glad she hadn’t had the opportunity to see herself. Quickly, he bunched up the bandages and patted her face dry as the blood begun tricking down her jaw.

“Let me,” she mumbled and closed her eyes. The pulsing in her head made it difficult to focus as she reached into the Fade. She smiled thought, enjoying the whispering of her Spirit that accompanied her as long as she could remember, and it grew louder each time she touched the land of dreams. She could feel her influence, the way she helped her gather and channel mana, and the mage felt the pure, raw force whirling inside her, ready to be unleashed. The same force that could kill, reshaped, could heal and she could already feel the warmth spread through her face. She let out a long breath she didn’t know she was holding.

Blackwall watched as the wound slowly scabbed and then begun closing right in front of his eyes. Her serene expression turned into a twisted grimace and she was shaking from the effort, her nostrils flared as she breathed through her nose quickly. She was deadly pale when she finally opened her eyes again, beads of sweat on her forehead and a distant look in those brown orbs. She closed them again, swallowing heavily. “How does it look?” she wheezed.

“Brand new,” Blackwall replied, pushing her hair away to examine. The skin was healed properly and she didn’t flinch away when he brushed his fingers against it. “Almost,” he added, his eyes following the outline of where the wound use to be. Against her tan face, the pale scar shone brightly. And she still missed a portion of her hair, too.

Her eyes opened, searching his face. Then, she smiled sadly at him. “Why so grim?” she asked him, touching his cheek gently with cold fingers. “It’s just a scar. You have plenty of those, too.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “God bless your cheerful heart, little one.”

“Did you expect me to cry? I’m alive. I was shot at, dragged by a horse and nearly run through. But I’m still alive.”

“First scars hurt the most,” he opposed. “And you’re very young.”

She laughed at that. “I’m nearly thirty,” she shook her head. “That hardly counts as very young.”

Blackwall gave her a hesitant smile. “You’ll talk differently when you get older.”

She sighed, looking away from him. “I already feel that way sometimes. Like it wasn’t months since the fateful meeting, but years. Many years.”

“Life on the road isn’t easy,” Blackwall nodded. “It’s mostly weary and dangerous and this tends to age you. But...” he paused until she met his eye, “there are benefits to it nonetheless.”

“Such as?” she challenged him, giving him a narrowed look.

He just lifted his eyebrows and gave her a knowing look. “It was difficult to part with your knight at the courtyard, wasn’t it?”

Something gentle and warm flashed in her eyes, and the most charming smile spread over her lips. Colour finally found its way to her face when she flushed a beautiful shade of red. “He’s...not what I expected,” she mumbled, dropping her eyes to her lap where she fiddled with her fingers.

He gave a hearty laugh again, patting her knee. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Anastasia. This is just between him and you and no one else has the right to interfere.”

“Experience talking?” she asked, but then suddenly regretted the question when his eyes changed. “I mean…” she hurried to add, “I must admit I’m…stranger to…all this.”

“Love?”

She nodded, squeezing her hands between her thighs nervously. “Yes,” she mumbled sheepishly. “I don’t think I’ve ever…well, liked anyone. Let alone… “ she shrugged. Then she chuckled at her own silliness and begun playing with her hair instead.

“No one in the Tower you fancied?”

“Not this way,” Anastasia replied and took a deep breath. “We often found…comfort in each other. But it was nothing emotional or lasting. Nothing that would keep me up all night thinking about it over and over again.” Her eyes grew distant. “Just a stolen moment of pretending we can be happy too.”

“Well,” Blackwall took a breath, “there’s first time for everything. Do you feel well enough to walk or do you want me to get someone bring you food here?”

“Let’s walk, please,” she smiled at him and took his hand when he offered it, letting him pull her up. He was a very strong man and lifting her didn’t pose a problem to him at all.

Even in its usually slumber pace Skyhold was teeming with people, now there seemed to be even more of them milling about. Not that they suddenly gained number, but with everyone getting ready as much as they could before the grand trip next day, it was easy to get fooled.

“Put that smile back on,” Blackwall ordered gently, patting her back. “It’s just a ball full of fancy, high and mighty and pompous…”

“I believe they’d say grandiloquent,” Anastasia cut him off, chuckling. “But I get your meaning. It’s not the masquerade, just the trip. I wanted to see the capital.”

“I’ve seen it,” Blackwall said gently, “and it’s just as fancy, high and mighty and _grandiloquent ___as its citizens. You’ve seen one Orlesian city, you’ve seen them all.”

She touched his arm. “Thank you for trying to cheer me up, but this isn’t necessary. I’ve already come to terms with it. And maybe I’m looking forward to those few weeks of doing nothing. At least the blisters from so many hours in a saddle will have time to heal,” she joked. “And my hands too,” she looked at her palms. There were red markings where she gripped the reins tightly, her skin sensitive and calloused.

First the smell of spicy broth and freshly baked bread welcomed them, making Anastasia’s stomach grumble dissatisfiedly. She touched her stomach, inwardly promising to feed it soon as possible. As they drew even closer, they could hear a merry laughter. The sound guided their way, punctuated only by short pauses of initially unintelligible words. The first she could understand clearly belonged to the very man they’d just talked about. Cullen sounded rather defensive. “No. That wasn’t how I said it.”

“That definitely was!” an unfamiliar voice replied, laughter and amusement dripping with every word. “And how you avoided my eyes saying it. By the Maker! Cutest templar of all Kirkwall. And probably the only one who hadn’t visited those… _ladies ___. Aren’t first impressions great?”

“You forgot his blush,” Varric replied matter-of-factly.

Another burst of laughter just as they stepped into the door. A wave of warm air hit them from the hot ovens, carrying a scent of wine in it.

Leliana and Cassandra were both laughing, sitting behind a small but sturdy wooden table. Cassandra was still in the armour and Varric hadn’t changed either, while Leliana seemed to be in much lighter garment; a linen shirt buttoned only half-way up with silver thread embroidery on its long, loose sleeves, and black leggings tugged in high boots. A leather belt was wrapped loosely around her hips and Anastasia could see a small dagger on it, too.

Another person stood with his back to the door, and Cullen hadn’t had the time put on something more comfortable. He not only carried his armour, but his arms as well, and the steel glistened in the dim dancing light of candles merrily; a contrast to the man’s gloomy mood.

The last was someone Anastasia had never seen. A tall, slim woman with short hair sticking into all directions like hedgehog’s spines. Her eyes were of a deep blue colour and full of mischievous sparks. She was dressed in a comfortable jerkin of black colour with a white shirt under it, and leather breeches and boots fit for riding. She was holding a mug and from the flush of her cheeks it was obvious she’d been drinking for some time already. “Yeah, the blush…seeing it creeping up his cheeks and neck, it was love at first…” she fell silent when she noticed the two newcomers. “Hey,” she offered the two of them a broad smile. She gestured to them with the mug, spilling some of its content on the floor with her clumsy movements. “Come in, the more, the merrier!”

“I believe you’re already merry enough, Kaileena,” Cullen said firmly.

She winked at him. “Not. Yet. If you catch my meaning, chantry boy. Oh, why aren’t you blushing now. Eh…wait, that was Sebastian…” she waved her hand, dismissing his cold stare, and turned to the door. She put the mug on the table with a loud thud. “You I remember. The Warden. Blackwall,” she smiled and Blackwall nodded once, both a confirmation and greetings. “But I believe I haven’t been acquainted with our pretty friend here, yet. How rude of someone,” she shot a wannabe reproachful look over her shoulder, extending her hand towards Anastasia. “Kaileena, but people call me Hawke. It’s shorter, I guess,” she shrugged, her eyes regarding the fresh scar and her hairline for a fleeting moment. She didn’t comment it however.

Dumbfounded, Ana accepted her hand and was surprised at the other woman’s strong grip. “Anastasia…” she mumbled.

“Oh, so you’re the one I’m supposed to keep an eye on while the rest of this lot is off having fun?” she pointed at the three advisors. Leliana was smiling broadly, Cassandra had a mild look of adoration in her eyes, while Cullen was frowning for some reason, his arms crossed over his chest.

“What?” Ana chimed weakly, her eyes searching for any kind of explanation.

“She’s going to help you run Skyhold while we’re gone,” Cassandra explained. Hawke’s mug had somehow found its way into her hand and she took a swing from it.

Everyone was silent for a moment, staring at Ana. Even Cullen raised his eyebrows at that. And then, Hawke started laughing. “And you said Cassandra didn’t have sense of humour, Varric,” she admonished him, turning back to Ana. “Nah. I’m just passing through. I’m staying only for a couple of days.”

“And we have Josephine for running Skyhold in our absence, don’t worry,” Leliana added with a broad smile.

“Thank the Maker,” Anastasia mumbled.


	11. Goodbye

She woke up before dawn, roused by muffled sounds outside. Failing to fall asleep again, she fumbled for her clothes as quietly as she could so that she wouldn’t wake Sera. The elf was still asleep and tangled in her sheets like a child, mouth half-open. She also had this ugly habit of taking up more than her half of the bed, but Anastasia didn’t mind that much. More than being exiled almost to the very edge of the bed, she disliked being alone.

At the Tower, she had never spent a night alone. As an initiate or apprentice, she shared a dormitory with a dozen or so other young mages. Even when she rose to the rank of Enchanters she still had a roommate. Certainly there were times she wished to have some privacy, a corner of a world she could call her own. However, at Skyhold she realized she hated waking up at night to a silence instead of someone’s quiet breathing or occasional mumbling.

There was something unnerving about the silence; knowing your life didn’t mean anything to the rest of the world felt worse when you were alone. And that was what her life had been worth of back at the Tower. Now…things were better, but she still preferred to have someone nearby. And with Sera so often coming to her room to have a chat, she had simply offered her to sleep over once. And Sera found it preferable to walking across the fort to her room in a middle of a night, too.

“What’s up?” Sera’s sleepy voice mumbled.

Anastasia winced. Sera’s keen senses were a pain sometimes. It was a great advantage somewhere in the open, when the quietest sound could mean a threat and you had to wake up within an instant, but it also meant Sera had a very light sleep at any other occasion. She had probably been up long before Anastasia.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Yeah…they’re loud,” the elf replied, pulling the sheets over her head so that only her hair stuck out of the white mess.

Quickly, Anastasia finished dressing and hurried to leave the room. Her steps led her through the cold, empty fortress, following the sounds coming from the courtyard. As she neared the exit, she kept meeting more and more people, servants mostly, who greeted her with a broad smile and a warm word.

But that was it for the warmth. The air outside was biting cold and her breath turned into a mist in front of her face as she hugged herself, hiding her hands in the sleeves of her robe. That was the usual weather at Skyhold this time of a year; chilly mornings would turn into pleasant afternoons and back into biting nights.

She even noticed the retinue for the grand journey to Val Royeaux packed some winter gear, too. The guards already wore new coats to protect them from cold, their faces already red from it’s caress.

She shuddered when she stopped at the top landing, leaning against the banister with her elbows. The rough stone was cold beneath her arms, but she didn’t move away, busy watching all the activities deep below her. Carts and carriages were being loaded with supplies, horses groomed and readied for the long journey, everyone assembling and making sure things were to their liking.

Anastasia smiled at the sight of Vivienne moving through the crowd. Her motions were slower and less elegant as usually, and it was plain to see she leaned heavily onto her staff, but she was alive and well enough to undertake the journey. In her coat with fur hood, as black as coal and just as lustreless, she looked as magnificent as always, waving around her hands hidden in a pair of warm, knitted gloves, giving instructions to the small army of servants gathered around her. That was Vivienne. Cassandra and Leliana both seemed to be just as busy, each organizing their part of the grand retinue that was to accompany them to the capital.

Anastasia smiled sadly, showing a bit of her hands to blow at them, warming them up at least a little bit. She pushed away from the banister to continue her descent. She made her way through the busy courtyard and found herself in the stables. The smell of horses and straw welcomed her, so did the warmth she sought.

Many of the horses were already outside, but there still were few remaining, and she immediately headed to the one she liked most. Shemeeck stood ready in his stall, his saddle already on his back, waiting patiently like a good boy. He welcomed Anastasia with a friendly whinny and a slight nod of his beautiful head.

“Aww, isn’t your master a good one?” she asked him, stroking his neck. “He left you here in the warmth rather than having you freeze outside. He’s not that bad, not at all,” she smiled at him, resting her forehead against his rich mane. It had been braided into countless little braids, with many colourful beads on. She doubted it was Cullen’s idea. There were far too few red ones for that. She played with them absentmindedly, the beads rattling against each other gently, when a gust of cold air gushed in the stables and she frowned towards the door. She couldn’t see them from where she stood, but she recognized the voices talking.

“...further north. She intended to reach Weisshaupt and it’s a long way to go yet,” Hawke was saying, her tone making Anastasia frowned. If she didn’t know the voice from the last night, she would have her doubts. She sounded nothing like the woman she’d met the previous day.

“We could definitely use her influence among the Grey Wardens,” Cullen replied. “Even though their strength and numbers aren’t what they used to be, every extra swords count these days.”

“Don’t overestimate her. Shani doesn’t really have as much power in the order as you’d…” Then the pair finally came into view and Hawke’s face lit up with a broad smile. “Oh, looks like you’ll have to walk, Cullen. Your horse’s taken,” she delivered cheerfully, spreading her arms like she wanted to hug Ana. Which was probably what she had in mind, too, considering evens of the last nigh. Drunk Hawke was a very…friendly Hawke. “Anastasia! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes so early in the morning,” she greeted the younger mage, beaming. Surprisingly however, she didn’t hug her. That would require pulling her hands from her pockets where she had hid them again from the chilly air. She wasn’t dressed properly either, unlike Cullen who was huddled in an extra coat and had the amazing furry pauldrons, too. “Have you noticed the braids? Don’t you think he looks amazing with them?”

“Kaileena…” Cullen growled, giving the woman by his side a murderous look.

“Don’t you like them? It took me almost two hours to finish them all last night,” she replied, pouting slightly. Then she grinned and finally freed one of her hands to tickle the horse under the chin. “Aren’t you a hunk like your rider now, huh?”

“Kaileena,” Cullen snarled again.

“I like them,” Anastasia mumbled sheepishly, eyes dropped to the dirty floor.

“It’s a warhorse, not some pet you can dress up!” Cullen protested, rushing to Shemeeck to get a better look. He grabbed a handful of the braids in his hand and then sighed. “You’re gonna be the death of me one day, Kaileena.”

Hawke snorted. “Funny. Isabela said this one to me once, too. Only the occasion was a bit different, heh. And who cares what you think anyway? You heard Ana, they’re awesome!” she went on, walking up to him, wrapping her hand around his back.

And Anastasia’s smile froze on her lips when he didn’t move to shake her arm off. She dropped her eyes again, watching her hands instead of Cullen’s quite helpless face as he took in the disaster of his horse. “Just don’t let me drag into this. It’s obviously between you two. I’ll better leave,” she moved towards the door, but Cullen’s hand quickly caught her wrist. “Don’t. Else I’ll kill her,” he whispered.

Kaileena just laughed, waving her hand dismissively.

“Shouldn’t you be all miserable after all you’ve drunk?” he growled towards her.

She shifted her weight, clasping her hands behind her back. “Hmmmmmagic?” she drawled, tilting her head. Then suddenly, she put on an expression Anastasia hadn’t seen on her yet – she actually turned sombre. “Anyway,” she begun, looking at Anastasia, “I see our friend’s patience is wearing thin so I’ll better leave while I still can and finally find Varric. Didn’t you happen to meet him, Ana?”

The younger mage just shook her head, baffled. The change was…it felt like talking to another person completely. Her face, her body language, her posture, her voice…everything was different. Even the way she looked appeared different without her narrowing them provocatively.

“Never mind then…I’ll catch up with you later, Anastasia. As for you, Cullen,” she turned to the former templar, and her smile wasn’t the usual flirty, mischievous grin she wore usually, “good journey. And don’t forget to buy something nice when you’re out there visiting distant regions. Remember what I said, because it really works.”

Anastasia frowned, her eyes darting to Cullen with curiosity. He was frowning slightly. “I might give it a try,” he mumbled, then chuckled. “I’ll let this,” he rattled with the beads, “slip. For now, Hawke. When you find Varric, tell him to hurry. Cassandra wants us to leave as early as possible.”

“Will do,” she nodded, leaving the two alone. Neither of them moved until the door closed behind her.

Anastasia let out a long breath. “I’m not sure what to think.”

“It’s pretty easy,” Cullen shrugged, staring after Hawke even though she was already gone. “The woman who came was Kaileena, an apostate mage with too much power within her reach. The woman who left was Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall. She can be quite a reasonable person when she wants, but she doesn’t choose to be.”

“Doesn’t choose to be?” Anastasia wondered.

“Well, she grew up being the head of their family, having three hungry mouths to feed after her father had died. She led them out of Ferelden when the Blight hit. She got them into Kirkwall, retrieved their mansion in the High Town…the list goes on,” he paused for a moment, turning to her. “She never liked being the one responsible for everything. The one to be blamed when things went wrong,” he uttered, his eyebrows knitted together, hands playing with the colourful beads. “It took me years to understand she doesn’t do all the mischief only to spite me or other people around her, that it was just how she worked. She once told me that if she cared only a little bit more about the world, she would break under the weight of all the problems people piled on her.” He made a face.

“She must be very strong,” Anastasia mumbled, stroking Shemie’s nostrils. The horse half-closed his eyes, shifting closer to her, as much as his stall allowed.

“She is, I guess,” Cullen mumbled, letting his hand drop. He didn’t want to talk about Hawke, not now.

“So…you’re probably leaving soon, huh?” she asked as if reading his thoughts, eyeing the saddle on Shemie’s back.

Cullen nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. “Our horses are still tired from the long journey we returned from yesterday. Cassandra wants to set slower pace because of that, but she also wants to cover the same distance.”

“You had to rise very early to have everything prepared already,” she reflected, examining his horse. She was smiling faintly, her eyes sad, her cheeks coloured into a gentle shade of pink by the cold air. He fingers were red and trembling, too.

“I wanted to have time to say goodbye,” he admitted, patting Shemeeck’s neck as an excuse to move closer to her. The horse snorted and nodded a few times, the colourful beads rattling quietly.

“Is this why you were with Hawke?” she asked with a strange edge to her voice, avoiding his eyes. The ghost of a smile turned rather wistful.

“Are you displeased by the notion, my lady?” he asked with a smirk.

“What did I tell you about the name?” she said sternly, but still refused to look at him. He laughed at her stubbornness, reaching out. He touched her chin, turning her head to him. “I’m sorry, Anastasia,” he started saying, liking the way her name rolled off his tongue. He let go of her face to gather her hands between his, warming the numb things up. “No, that wasn’t why I was with Hawke. We just met on our way here. Like she said, she’s searching for Varric. Her lover had sent her a letter, and obviously Hawke needed to relate something to Varric from her.”

Anastasia blinked, her eyes widening, mouth opening in a gasp. “Her?!” she echoed in a surprised, high voice. “Her lover is a…woman?!”

“Why, yes. Didn’t you know?” he asked with a frown. “I thought you’d notice how amicable she was to you last night.”

Now Anastasia was beaming. “So you’re not…” she broke off quickly, shutting her mouth and looking away. She closed her eyes for a moment. “I meant…she’s not…I thought…eh…” And she gave up, using her hair to hide her face from him.

“If I didn’t know you, my…Anastasia, I’d think her presence made you jealous,” he said quietly.

“But of course it did!” she replied, looking him straight in the eyes once more. His heart skipped a beat. “She’s…an amazing person, a powerful and respected mage… of course I’m jealous of her,” she went on, tilting her head. And she got to spend most of the night with you, joking and talking, and touching… she added inwardly. Her eyes dropped to their hands. His were so warm and gentle if calloused from all the swordplay. “She had to break a few hearts back in Kirkwall, huh?”

“Many,” Cullen nodded, and even the scarce morning light showed how she blushed slightly. “She was quite a good match, descending from Kirkwall’s nobility, and a lot of families made tremendous efforts to pair their sons with her. And then she brought her relationship with Isabela into the open and all their hopes vanished.” She looked more and more relieved and happy with his every word. “Why are you smiling like that, my lady?” he asked, trying to keep his face straight. “Not that I don’t enjoy such a lovely sight, but I find myself curious.”

“Eh…heh, eh…you see…no reason?” she stammered finally, still smiling. Was there any other way she could embarrass herself left? She hoped not, she already felt like stupid, love-struck fool. She really should stop talking.

“No reason,” he echoed, squeezing her hands gently, giving her a ghost of a smile. “One would almost think you’re happy to see me off.”

“What?” she blurted out and he could feel her hands flinch in his. “No! That’s not what I…oh,” she chuckled. “You’re just teasing me…” she trailed off, biting her lip.

An air howled, rushing through the stables as someone walked in. Cullen squeezed her hands again gingerly, giving her a meek glance, and headed to see who was coming. Anastasia turned to Shemeeck, smiling at the horse.

“Ser, we’re ready to set off.”

“I’ll be there in a minute. Just let me get my horse.”

Anastasia’s shoulder sagged and she reached to touch Shemie’s neck for one more time.

“I’ll have to go,” he uttered when he joined her side again, fumbling with the stall’s door to get it open. It swung to a side with a quiet squeak and then he paused, hand still holding the top of the wooden door. Shemeeck waited inside, blinking at him.

“Is something wrong?” Anastasia asked.

“Yes. This whole journey is,” he admitted, sighing. He wasn’t used to the careful balance of Orlesian politics. He preferred a straightforward approach to problems, not games or schemes or tricks.

“Well…” Anastasia mumbled, searching for something to say. “You get to meet a lot of nice people.”

“In Val Royeaux?” he asked dubiously, turning to her, his eyes watching her with a strange intensity.

She shrugged. “I didn’t have time to think of anything better to say,” she mumbled. “Sorry.”

He chuckled, hanging his head for a moment, taking a deep breath like you do before you jump. “No, the nice people are left behind here at Skyhold.” He lifted his eyes to her. “Especially one,“ he added, reaching out. She sucked in the air quickly when he placed his hands on her waist, bringing her close for an embrace. She begun protesting feebly, but when he pressed his cheek against hers, she relaxed, wrapping her arms around his neck. She was trembling slightly, from cold maybe, her breath tickling his ear.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She smelled horses and leather, the foam they used at Skyhold for shaving and sweat. “You’re uncomfortably hard,” she mumbled. It wasn’t until she felt him grinning she realized her unfortunate choice of words. “The armour,” she wheezed, grimacing.

“Tell me about it,” he whispered in her ear.

“I just did…Oh, Maker, just shut me now before I make a fool of myself some more…” she whispered and moved to pull away from him.

He touched her cheek, thumb caressing her cheekbone. Fulfilling her wish, he leaned in, brushing her lips with the softest of kisses, giving her the time to move away, but praying that she didn’t at the same time. Her warm breath tickled his cheek when she responded, her lips softer and sweeter than he ever imagined

Deepening the kiss, he wished to freeze the moment, to make it last forever. He felt her soft touch in his hair, heard the soft sound she made when he pulled her even closer to him, his arms carefully encircling her waist.

It felt too soon when he moved away, but the emptiness he felt was gone when he looked at her face. Her eyes were still closed, lips half-opened, cheeks reddening even more. Her eyelids flickered and slowly opened, giving him the most adorable look ever.

“I already cannot wait to be back,” he whispered, fumbling for the reins of his horse with his eyes still fixed on her face. He dropped his arm holding her close to him and she made a step back, taking a slow breath. Then she gave him a hesitant smile, not sure what else to do.

Just as his hand held the reins, Shemeeck moved to leave his stall finally. “Will I see you tonight?” he asked quietly, turning as the horse refused to wait until he was done, and headed to the door, beads singing their quiet song as he moved.

She smiled brightly. “In your dreams, ser Knight.”

“A cruel answer…” he joked, passing the reins from hand to hand behind his back to get a few more precious seconds of being with her. “I guess I’ll have to wait and see…”


	12. Head over heels

“Morning,” a quiet voice spoke up before someone joined her at the table. Hawke sat down, her eyes fixed on the steaming cup in her hands, warming her numb fingers through her knitted gloves. Her coat was dusted with bright snowflakes, large and beautiful, that hadn’t had the time to melt yet. They adorned her hair too, white against black. She blew into the mug, steam recoiling from her, and then leaned in to breathe in the scent. She gave Anastasia a meaningful look, moving the mug closer in a silent offer.

“A tea?” Anastasia sniffed. “Why, I smell no rum.”

Hawke gave her a blank look, then took a sip and smiled. “I guess that was deserved. I love a good drink. I cannot lie,” she shrugged. “Mind if I join you?”

“You already have,” Anastasia pointed out, picking at her food with a long spoon that might have been silver once before the metal had turned all but black. Anastasia didn’t mind. It lent the piece of cutlery an antique touch.

“But I could just as easily butt out, if you’re not in mood for a companion.”

“I’m fine. Stay, if you don’t mind me eating my breakfast.”

Hawke made a face, eying her bowl. “I wouldn’t call porridge breakfast, but I guess I’m spoiled.”

Anastasia smiled to herself. “Just try to put in a little more sugar and cinnamon. That’s how they did it at the Tower and it actually promoted it from hardly edible to quite tasty.”

“Nah, I’ll pass, thanks,” Hawke shook her head, taking another sip of her tea. “Anyway…you look sad.”

Anastasia conjured a smile on her face. “It’s Skyhold. I’m not used to seeing it so empty. It feels…lonely.”

Hawke gave a weak, lop-sided smile. It was completely mirthless however. “I know what you mean. It was strange…and somehow wrong…to come to our family mansion to find it empty. I was always used to big family and not having it around…” she broke off, bending her head to slurp some more of the hot liquid. Then she licked her lips and set the mug down, finally warm enough to strip off her heavy coat. She wore a woollen shirt underneath and a waistcoat trimmed with fur. She peeled off her gloves, too, laying them next to her mug. “But this isn’t about Skyhold, is it?” she added instead of finishing her previous sentence.

“I’m not sure I follow,” Anastasia mumbled, her forehead wrinkled as she regarded the elder mage next to her.

Hawke kept her eyes on her mug, her fingers encircling it tightly. “You wouldn’t care less if Skyhold was completely abandoned if there was just a single person left. I’ve seen the way you looked at him at the stables. And I see the way you look now.” She took a deep breath, a sad smile forming on her lips.”It’s an expression I see in a mirror every day I’m not with Isabela.”

“Was it really that obvious?” Ana asked quietly, focusing on her porridge. Then she grimaced and pushed the bowl away.

“You’re not very good at hiding your thoughts,” Hawke replied cheerfully. “But it’s a good thing. It’s refreshing to deal with you. I know I can trust what I hear and see. Years in politics had me convinced people as you were extinct,” she laughed gently, touching Anastasia’s leg under the table briefly. “Don’t you dare to change,” she added quietly. “Though he isn’t any better at it. The day I arrived, I wasn’t half as drunk not to notice his jealousy. I’m sorry if I seemed too forward, by the way. I was teasing him, not making you uncomfortable.”

Anastasia blinked. “I’m…confused?” she mumbled.

Hawke sighed and then brought the mug to her lips. She closed her eyes for a short moment while she drank. “You see, sweetie,” she started saying, “knowing me and my…preferences,” she smirked, “flirting with you made Cullen angry. He’s head over heels, from what I can tell, and that made it all just too easy. I love teasing him.”

“H-head over heels?” Anastasia stammered.

“Haven’t you notice?” Kaileena chuckled. “He’s like a lost puppy, watching you when you’re not looking, protecting you from the vicious me like a dashing knight from children’s stories.”

“Truly?”

“Yes. Surprising, huh? I always thought he despised mages, distrusted them and generally had a very bad opinion about them.” Then she smiled and tilted her head slightly. “I’m glad I was wrong about him.”

“He…” Ana started tentatively, “was a little bit difficult at the beginning. Now he treats Vivienne like she was a queen or something and Dorian is one of his best friends.” She was smiling. “And he personally took charge for Solas’ training.”

“Mmm…training?”

“With a sword,” Ana explained. “I train with a spear, but I’m more inclined to kill myself,” she laughed.

“How unusual,” Hawke mumbled, sitting back. She shrugged then. “But why not?” She reached for her mug again, bringing it closer to her face to smell its scent and feel its warmth on her face.

“And…are you sure?” Anastasia asked, her eyes fixed on the elder women’s relaxed face. Hawke slowly opened her blue eyes and the orbs ever so slowly swilled to her. “Hm?” she hummed, asking her to repeat her question.

“What you said,” Anastasia replied slowly. “About…him and…” She chuckled then, running her fingers through her hair. “I’m being silly, aren’t I?”

“Do not worry. I don’t judge,” Hawke said simply, watching her with her head tilted slightly to a side.

“I mean…growing up at a Tower, there were many things I always considered beyond my reach.”

“Such as…?” Hawke drawled lazily.

Anastasia smiled broadly and gestured around. “I’m free.” She took a deep breath. “No one breathing down my neck, no one pushing me around, no one to tell me what to do or not to do.”

“Cassandra?” Hawke replied calmly.

“…is a friend,” Anastasia uttered. “And she’s not as tough as she likes to pretend. And others aren’t what they seemed either. And that brings me back to what I ways saying – back at the Tower I never thought I’d find someone I couldn’t be without. Now I can’t stop thinking about him, wondering what he’s doing or where he is…” she trailed off, feeling quite sheepish suddenly.

Hawke grinned, setting the mug on the table with a thud. “I wish I could be here when he returns to see the happy reunion. But then again, I can’t wait to get back to Isabela either. Although…” she paused, trapping her lower lip between her teeth pensively. “Did he say a proper goodbye at least when I left the stables? If not, then he doesn’t deserve a welcome.”

Ana chuckled. “We…did say our goodbyes after you left,” she admitted and almost blurted out that he had also asked her to visit him in the Fade. But she stopped herself just in time. As a mage Hawke wouldn’t be dismayed to hear about her adventures in the land of dreams, but Anastasia cherished the idea of their secret meetings. It almost felt like something cut straight from a love story, not that she’d read many of such stories. Books like that weren’t exactly common at the Tower. Rather quite frowned upon. Mages were supposed to control themselves and their emotions, not to give into them.

Hawke kept looking at the younger mage expectantly, but when she realized Anastasia wouldn’t be adding anything else, she shrugged. “Well, I hope it was worth it.”

“Was your parting with Isabela?”

“You bet,” Hawke replied, a vicious smirk on her face. Then the smile softened, “Strange feeling, huh? So far away, and she still holds such a power over me. Scary, but exciting. Don’t you think?”

“She’s closer than you think,” Anastasia smiled softly.

“Ooh, we’re going to get all philosophical, eh?” She laughed. “But I guess I get what you mean. It’s the romantic stuff, huh? Something like that she’s still in my heart?” She let out another cackle. “I’m not like that, Ana. I don’t get sentimental. I love her, but you won’t hear me singing serenades about her. I’m just too realistic,” she shrugged.

“And yet your smile was so lovely when you talked about your feelings,” Anastasia countered. “And I didn’t mean your heart, but your memories. They help keep close nice moments until you can create new ones.”

Hawke’s eyebrows rose significantly. “Is this what you do when you miss him?” she asked, sounding slightly amused. “You start reminiscing? I didn’t know you had that many memories of him and you together.”

Anastasia just smiled softly, giving a half-shrug.

“You’re hopeless,” Hawke laughed, reaching for her mug again. “But it’s still nice to see this chaos hasn’t managed to trample you down with its weight,” she sighed and then took a deep breath. “Quite an enviable feat, to tell the truth,” she added softly.

The two of them fell quiet for a moment. Ana still had a gormless smile on her lips as she stared nowhere in particular, while Hawke frowned at her tea. It wasn’t steaming anymore, but still felt warm against her hands. And then the door squeaked and there was the distinct clatter of dog’s claws against the marble floor. Joyet dashed to his mistress excitedly, wagging his tail as she turned to pet him. “Hey, sleepyhead! Finally up, are you?”

“I should go,” Ana finally mumbled, watching Joyet’s happy face, eyes half-closed with bliss, as Hawke scratched behind his ears. “Josephine wanted me to attend the judging today.”

“You’re going to judge your subjects?” Hawke asked, surprised.

Anastasia shook her head, grabbing her unfinished bowl of porridge, the spoon jingling merrily against its brim. “I don’t even know who’s to come or why,” she shrugged, dropping to a crouch next to Joyet to stroke his head. “I guess she just wants someone to scare them. Usually it’s Cassandra, but with the new scar I might pass for a suitable replacement,” she joked, but Joyet whined nonetheless. “Come on. I’ll make a nice evil sorceress in something dark and mysterious. Don’t you think?”

Joyet tilted his head, panting. Then he barked once.

Ana patted his side and rose to her feet. “Good boy. See you later, Hawke.”

The elder mage replied with just a smile and so Anastasia was on her way, her steps echoing through the empty great hall. She sighed, knowing of a thousand other ways she would rather spend her morning than standing in the throne room. But there wasn’t much she could do about it. Whatever she was before, she was now part of the Inquisition. And as such, she had her duties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, everyone! Now I hope I won’t disappoint you by saying that the next chapter is going to be the last. DAI is almost out and so my goal is accomplished. If I helped you just a little bit with the wait, that’s all I wanted and I thank you for going through this little story with me.


	13. He who wields magic

The heavy double door thudded close finally and the throne room got drown in a blissful silence. Anastasia let out a long, heavy sigh and slid down the throne slightly, her legs, knees, back and butt all protesting against the motion. All stiff and aching, she shifted, leaning against the armrest, arching her back over it, one of her knees thrown across the other one. She let her arms dangle next to her head as she stretched like a cat on the throne, her spine cracking loudly. A smile spread across her lips when she finally went limp again, enjoying the lack of anything pressing to do.

She’d spent the whole day sitting on the throne, listening to people’s problems and trying her best to be just, strict and benevolent, kind, although not too much to make it seem a weakness, and understanding. Sometimes she’d had to make a decision she didn’t like but knew was the best for majority of the parties involved. All this with help of Josephine standing close to the throne, whispering advices when needed and details Anastasia hadn’t had the time to learn yet.

Then the door squeaked again, only for a fleeting moment as it opened a crack, just wide enough for a person to squeeze through.

“When you told me that guy was the last one, Josephine, I thought I would start crying from joy. The judging took forever today!” she moaned, sprawled quite disgracefully across the throne like it belonged to her. Which it practically did, when she thought about it. At least during the past few weeks when she’d been put into the head of the Inquisition in small, inconspicuous steps until she realized all the power was transferred from Josephine to her and her alone.

A soft cough made her eyes snap open. “I’m afraid, Inquisitor, there’s still one man requesting audience,” a velvet voice rang through the empty hall as its owner strode across it, head humbly bowed as he approached the mighty throne. He fell on one knee not far from it while Anastasia sit straight, hands in her lap, and a playful smile on her lips. Her weariness was gone all at once, replaced by an excited thumping of her heart.

“Very well,” she gestured towards him with a subtle motion of her hand, “You may raise. What is it you need?”

“A moment of your time, Inquisitor, and your company,” he replied, green and blue eyes looking up at her from below the dais as he rose to his feet obediently.

Anastasia took a slow breath. “A daring request indeed,” she whispered, finally managing a straight face while inside she trembled with the need to wrap her arms around his neck. Was it even possible? A few weeks, and she all but burnt with the desire to be near him, to touch him and kiss him. With him gone, it had been easy to act composed. Now, with him right in front of her, she had troubles keeping still. “What makes you think you’re worthy of my attention?” she asked in a calm voice despite herself.

“I am not a man without power,” he reminded her with a soft smile, slowly shifting closer to the throne. He put one leg on the first step and stopped there.

“And you think this would interest me?” she asked slowly, deliberately rising to her feet. Her clothes rustled as she moved, the layered robes pronouncing her curves as she stepped down from the dais. She walked past him, close enough to brush his hand with hers and he whirled after her. He watched her ambling into the centre of the large throne room, eyeing the sway of her hips, the way her legs moved as she glided away from him. “I have practically the entire Inquisition under my thumb, have been running it for…” …a couple of weeks sounded too lame… “…some time now. I’ve got a vast net of spies at my fingertips, seasoned men to lay their lives for me…all this,” she gestured around, “is mine to command. What more can you possibly offer?” she whispered.

“Actually,” Cullen commented, “those seasoned men are mine.”

She clasped her hands behind her back, taking a deep breath. “They like me better.”

“I don’t blame them. You’re better looking after all,” Cullen replied with a smirk, and his eyes left hers for a quick inspection. Winter had hit Skyhold quickly, burying it under drifts of snow with a help of biting gusts coming from the north. Freezing air forced everyone into warm clothes and furs, but despite the extra layers she wore she looked no less beautiful. He shook his head and walked up to her, his arms encircling her waist before he even thought about it. Her lips were just as soft and warm as he remembered, her hands trembling as they tangled in his hair. She made a soft, pleased sound in her throat when he pressed her close to him, both oblivious to the world around.

This time it wasn’t a dream. He was here, with her, kissing her, touching. He could smell the sweet scent of her hair and skin, the familiar aroma of old books and candle wax. He could feel her warmth through her clothes and he didn’t have to wake up into cold misery and long journey across half of Orlais.

He held her face firmly in his hands when they parted for air, their foreheads touching. Her eyes remained closed and she smiled dreamily. “How did you do it?” she whispered, her hands curling in his hair, still trembling uncontrollably.

“Did what?” he asked, watched her slowly open her eyes. The brown orbs studied his face for a moment and she gave a soundless chuckle, her hands dropping onto his shoulders. “Half a year ago, you were a stranger to me, almost an enemy I had to be wary of. That’s what you were for a very long time until one day I just realized I liked you helping me up from the ground when Latica threw me down. One day I couldn’t wait ‘till dusk for us to sit around the campfire and talk about nothing at all. I looked forward to arriving to Skyhold for a chance to see you relaxed and smiling. I thought I was the one wielding magic here, but you have charmed me in a way I never thought possible.”

His thumb caressed her cheek as she talked, and he watched her wordlessly.

“When I first came for you in the Fade and changed in front of you, you gave me a look of sheer horror,” she frowned at the memory. “You were terrified of the creature I had become, not me, but it hurt and I could no longer pretend I was indifferent to anything regarding you.” Then her face with lit with the most lovely smile. “When you kissed my hand the morning after that I melted in a puddle at your feet.”

He leaned in to kiss her smiling lips again, and she eagerly responded until he pulled away. “I love you,” he said simply. There was no need to tell her he felt just as confused and bewildered. The declaration was all that needed saying now. All that was left to be said.

All those nights he literally spent dreaming about her, getting to know her more, getting closer and closer to her, all those secret meetings none knew about but them. And yet…this was what he really dreamt about all that time. To hold her close and finally admit the truth he tried to conceal ever since he felt the pinch of jealousy at Leliana’s innocent remark about Garret’s feelings for the mage so many weeks ago.

Her eyes grew wide and she froze for a few heartbeats. “I love you, too,” she whispered almost sheepishly and she smiled again and took a breath to speak.

A soft cough echoed through the hall and the two of them broke apart abruptly. Cassandra, with a mild smile, stood at the entrance and the spymaster of the Inquisition with her, a broad grin splitting the redhead’s face. “At last,” Leliana uttered. “Took you long enough. Now…” she begun, striding towards the pair, Cassandra hot on her heels. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but there are urgent matters to discuss, like that siege that’s coming inevitably…”

The shocked news drained all the embarrassment away. “A siege?” Anastasia gasped as the redhead slipped her arm through hers, leading her away. “Yes, a siege. An army is marching our way and that’s why we hurried to get back. I received the news a week ago. We’ve got no time to waste and there’s much to be done before you can continue your…well…” she paused, smirking, “entertainment.”

“…behind a locked door, I can promise you this,” Ana heard Cullen mutter behind them. She shot him a smile over her shoulder. This was a promise she definitely liked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Either way…yep, this is it. The day a certain part of Earth is lucky enough to get their hands onto the game. I envy you all :D But it also means this story is done. I hope I helped you with the wait a little bit. And now, all of you lucky ones, off you go to profoundly enjoy the experience of how the story truly is :D Maybe this isn’t the last time I write something about Ana, but that’ll have to wait some time as the chances of my computer running the game are slim (but it does run Battlefield 4, so I’m hopeful :) ) Anyway, I’m done with my rumbling, sorry for it.
> 
> And thank you for sticking by me with this story!


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